


Elz tries to do Fair Game Week 2020

by elzierav



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Birds, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cooking, Cuddling, Dates, Dating Advice, Domestic Fluff, Fair Game Week 2020, Family, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Parody, Pirates, Qrow keeps getting hurt, Robyn is Batman, Semblances, Shovel Talk, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Taiyang is a mother hen, Weapons, but is still a badass, clover and winter are buddies, compliments, fairgameweek2020, in the fruit sense, qrow and tyrian rematch, sassy clover's sister, staff of creation, who has a cool semblance and weapon, why are you even reading this, yang makes puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: "It starts little by little, haphazard event after haphazard event, each pulling them closer together as if probabilities repeatedly set them on a collision course. They’re just small things at first, and Qrow doesn’t think much of such accidental happenings. After all, they're probably just a byproduct of his Semblance."Where I try to follow the prompts of Fair Game Week 2020, wish me luck![EDIT: I actually managed and still can't really believe it]
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 63
Kudos: 113





	1. Accidental happenings

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I know I'll be too tired to redo the same tags every night of the week so it's all gonna be in one fic. Still, hope you enjoy (:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Flirting/Semblances

It starts little by little, haphazard event after haphazard event, each pulling them closer together as if probabilities repeatedly set them on a collision course. They’re just small things at first, and Qrow doesn’t think much of such accidental happenings. After all, they're probably just a byproduct of his Semblance.

Maybe it’s just Qrow’s Semblance after a long day of training when Harriet trips on a bullet shell while running. Of course the shapeshifter blames his misfortune for the mishap. But after a long day of blaming himself, when he realises Clover easily caught the speedster just before her head hit the ground, the scythe-wielder forgets to say ‘sorry’ and instead says ‘thank you’. His tongue must have slipped, just like everyone and everything slips and falls over when he’s around. Just his luck really. 

He doesn’t think about it twice when breathtaking teal eyes, previously smug after their owner’s lucky catch, light up like lagoons caressed by the heat of a thousand suns at his simple two words.

Maybe it’s just Qrow’s Semblance when their supply truck is stranded in the middle of the tundra amidst a snowstorm. The tempest’s too strong for them to be able to budge even an inch more toward Amity, too dense for them to even see anything other than white falling sideways against white, too cold for them to even pry their freezing eyelids open. Maybe it’s just Qrow’s luck that all he and Clover can do is wait out the storm, huddling for warmth at the back of the shipment vehicle. Because really, it’s nothing but awkward, seeing as the ridiculously attractive Ace Op leader has evidently been flirting with him the whole time. Especially as the shapeshifter’s been too tired with his recent misadventures (again, just his luck) and alcohol withdrawal to be able to respond in kind. 

Maybe it’s just his Semblance when the shower Qrow shares with the kids runs out of hot water when they finally get back from that wretched mission late at night (Yang likes her showers burning hot and Weiss sometimes indulges in lengthy operatic renditions while she bathes). Yup, just his luck when his feet take him to Clover’s quarters and the Ace Op leader welcomes him with just a towel wrapped around his waist, expanses of defined alabaster torso glistening with warm water from his still hot shower. Yup, just his luck when the Atlesian lets him shower there and tosses him a T-shirt when he comes out without even looking. A way too large T-shirt, of course, the large opening meant for a broader neck exposing an entire pale shoulder. 

He’s too tired to feel self-conscious when Clover’s gaze traces the gentle curve of his collarbone all the way to the sharp angle of his shoulder blade reminiscent of a bird’s wing ready to take flight. 

Maybe it’s just his Semblance the time Clover’s Aura breaks in the field and a Manticore stinger grazes him. It’s not very much, just another of these little things, but Qrow’s hands are shaking again at the sight of the fine slash wound and what that reminds him of. The operative senses that, senses the agile, lithe fingers ever so slightly trembling as they work on bandaging the cut, senses the almost imperceptible irregularity in the Huntsman’s respiration ghosting against his skin. It’s likely just to ease Qrow’s discomfort while they still wait for their pick-up airship that Clover cracks a corny joke, teasingly daring Qrow to kiss the newly patched up scratch, to kiss the pain away, and Qrow’s too wary to refuse. 

After all, with his Semblance and the accidents it entails, Qrow’s just a really good mother hen. (Maybe he should have been named after a different bird, come to think of it.) 

Maybe it’s just his Semblance when a large fragment of the communication tower breaks apart, struck by lightning, delaying their project by weeks if not months. After a long meeting with a rather irate Ironwood, Qrow can feel the stress simmering down his bones, and isn’t sure how to work the tension out before going to sleep. After all, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day. His body’s too tired to fight back when Clover pins him against the door of his room, cupping his jaw with a surprisingly delicate hand. But his senses are still sharp from the anxiety and adrenaline, sharp enough to pick up the implicit question in the Ace Op’s silence and close the gap between them. Soon, their lips are colliding, again and again with desperate force in a clash of teeth and tongues, with the same passion and precision they pour into each of their gestures on the battlefield. And their lips collide, again and again, as if fortune and misfortune repeatedly set them on a collision course. 

Qrow doesn’t think much of it other than as a way to work out accumulated tension, doesn’t think much of it as his brain shuts down under the onslaught of desire, desire for more, always more as Clover’s lips trail down his neck, whispering sweet nothings about how it’s not his fault and trying to reassure him between searing kisses. Nope, he doesn’t think much of it as his senses, heightened by his arousal, take in each of the slightest details of Clover’s full lips meticulously mapping his sensitive skin. Nope, he’s got enough to think about, between how to kiss Clover senseless and how to simultaneously unlock his room. Somehow, he eventually manages, allowing both of them inside before slamming the door shut. All that without breaking the kiss, without ever breaking the burning contact, without ever worrying about anything but about kissing the Ace Op leader as if there were no tomorrow.

(After all, tomorrow’s another day.)

Maybe it’s just his Semblance when his room door swivels closed in that way multiple times late at night in the week, and the neighbours start complaining about the noise. Just their luck, for living next to the embodiment of a bad luck charm. At least, Qrow’s Semblance didn’t make lightning strike twice at the same place, so they can all consider themselves lucky.

Maybe it’s just Qrow’s Semblance that makes his Scroll break so often, so he has to borrow Clover’s while they file in mission reports together, slouched side by side in the cozy warmth of the soldier’s bed. The Atlesian team leader actually prefers that arrangement, prefers to have pillows behind his back after tiring hours of standing with his back ramrod straight in his perfect boy scout pose on the field or in Ironwood’s office. Or to lean against Qrow’s shoulder in lieu of pillows, for whatever reason. Sometimes their fingers brush, sending warm electric tingles down their nerves, when they both attempt to edit on the same Scroll at the same time, alternatively adding and removing snarky comments from the mission summary. They don’t think very much of it, they’re not blushing teenagers any more, they’re grown adults with better things to do such as make sure that their stupid luck jokes don’t make up most of said mission summary. 

After all, it’s only Clover being Clover and being prim and proper and professional and perfect, when he compliments Qrow’s usage of his new tonfa mode in his report. And it’s only Qrow being Qrow, unsure whether he’s just a misunderstanding mess when he leans in and captures the team leader’s adorable grin with his lips. 

The shapeshifter’s tongue must have slipped, demanding more access just as his partner responds fervently, still smiling into the kiss. His tongue must have slipped, tracing out the contour of Clover’s lips with expertise. His tongue must have slipped, just like everyone and everything slips and falls over when Qrow’s around. Maybe it’s just his Semblance. 

Maybe it’s just his Semblance when it finally dawns on Qrow they aren't just friends with benefits. That they just enjoy making out on Clover’s bed without it devolving into anything more heated, into anything else but gentle, lingering, adoring touches. That they’re more than content like that, occasionally brushing their lips together between sessions of filling in paperwork or playing cards. 

Maybe it’s just his Semblance that finally made Qrow realise where they stand, when Clover’s tongue finally slips in a mission briefing (yes, Clover messing up sometimes happens, once in a broken blue moon, just his luck really). More precisely, when the Ace Op captain announces the team-ups for the day and refers to the shapeshifter as ‘his boyfriend’, before the watchful eyes of a scowling Winter and a tail-wagging Marrow. 

Or maybe Qrow realised he was in love when Weiss winked at them before they jumped out of the ship on their Amity check-up day. Or maybe when Nora explained the subtleties of being together  _ together  _ to a clueless Oscar while Ren stared at Qrow and Clover awkwardly. Or maybe when Elm made up a drinking game about people figuring out her boss and the scythe-wielding Huntsman were lovesick before the two of them found out themselves… or maybe it was just a combination of all of those events. 

After all, it’s not like falling in love was an overwhelming epiphany that cured Qrow’s misfortune or his guilt and insecurities or his alcohol withdrawal symptoms or anything. It’s not like kissing Clover felt like balancing the universe out, like washing away Qrow’s Semblance with the operative’s own. Not like their feelings were defined by their mirrored Semblances, because  _ they  _ are not defined by their Semblances, even as accepting that is hard and a never ending battle for both of them. Because it’s never been about the probabilities, the good or bad luck, it’s always been about how they reacted to the probabilities, how they seized the opportunities that brought them closer. It’s not like loving Clover even turned the shifter into a different person, as if the best version of Qrow the younger man brought out of him hadn’t been in there the whole time, all the time, like a flawed, beautiful caged bird only waiting to break free. 

(Nope, each little instant, each lingering touch is an epiphany of its own, and isn’t it much better like that? It’s like randomly stumbling upon a new shiny trinket every other day, every other hour, and that’s pretty amazing when you’re a crow.)

After all, it started little by little, happy happening after happy happening, each pulling them closer together as if probabilities repeatedly set them on a collision course. They’re just small things at first, and Qrow took a while to figure out he’s in love and to connect the dots between those accidental mishaps, that he thought were byproducts of his Semblance. 

(Or maybe it was Clover’s Semblance all along.)


	2. I really managed. To get you. On a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Date/Domestic  
> Canon divergent, kinda?  
> Warning: mild swearing

“Nope. No way. No fucking way.”

Clover shoots another desperate look at his pouting boyfriend, arms crossed against his chest as he sprawls across the couch before the fireplace. 

“If you’re worried about the alcohol, I know of a good place where -”

“Nope.”

“Oh, is it about your Semblance? If so I can assure you that as long as I’m there no waiter will ever spill any soup on you or me or anyone. I’m willing to bet on that.”

“Nope. I don’t know what people have been saying about me, but it’s not like I’m too embarrassed about my bad luck to ever eat out in public. I’ll have you know I’m a seasoned Huntsman, not a clueless emo teen.”

“So why won’t you go on a date with me?” 

The shapeshifter draws a deep breath, strands of feathery hair fluttering adorably, before tackling the question of the day.

“First, we’re under siege by Salem. This isn’t a time to go out or have big fancy dinners. Second, we’ve been living together and fighting together and making out and bickering like an old married couple for… two months? Isn’t it a bit late for a first date when we already got to know each other? Third, we’re grown adults, not blushing school kids, and I’ve been on the first date experience enough times already as is. And last, but certainly not least, we’re outlaws with an arrest warrant on our heads since you defected from Jimmy’s army to help Mantle. Hanging out in public together is probably a bad idea if we don’t want to get recognised, especially since your pretty face was plastered all over the shiny ‘join the military’ billboards.”

“All fair points,” Clover sighs, waving his hands in defeat before vanishing into the kitchen. “I just thought it’d be nice to go out to celebrate the anniversary of your first victory in the Vytal tournament.”

“You still remember that? How old were you even at the time, thirteen?”

“I was a second-year cadet, but I didn’t get to participate in the tournament since I was on a fast-track command course and was put on different experimental teams every other week. But I watched all of your matches and was betting on you since day one.”

As he rambles, the Ace Op rummages through the kitchen drawers, wondering where he’d last put the wrapped up package Yang had given him for this very situation. Clover relies way too much on his good luck to stumble upon the things he needs while cooking, and Qrow is too lazy to sort out groceries and utensils, so their kitchen is way more messy than it should be. 

“Remind me to never make a bet with you. But I wonder what you’re looking for in there while you’re trying to distract me with your flatteries.”

The former military leader swivels around to see his partner in the kitchen doorway, head tilted to the side as intent crimson eyes follow his every move. As he mindlessly leans onto the counter behind him, Clover’s hand finds the familiar rough material of the package he was searching for and promptly tosses it into Qrow’s hands.

“Yang told me to give this to you.”

Clover watches intently as those long, endless ivory fingers nimbly discard the post-it on top, reading ‘for uncle Qrow, xoxo firecracker’, and untangling the paper wrapping to reveal the abundant fruit inside. 

“ _Dates_ . Wrapped in a paper _calendar_ ,” the shapeshifter drawls, hesitantly eyeing the sweet, sticky treats in his hands. What a _subtle_ way to hint at me that I should go out on a date with you.”

“Might not be subtle, but at least that’s _sweet_ of her. They smell delicious.”

“Back off. Wash your hands before touching my dates.”

The former Ace Op can’t help but salivate at the rich scent of the exotic fruit that Yang must have bought in the Vacuan bazaar Fiona and May took her to. Clover can recall the narrow streets brimming with the colours and odours of garish spices the first time he went there with Elm back in his Academy days, how they sipped tea on a cramped terrasse surrounded by embroidered tapestries. 

“Well, that made me hungry. Since you don’t want to go out, I guess I’ll just start making dinner.”

“Make yourself at home,” the scythe-wielder deadpans before tumbling back onto his favourite perch on the worn out couch. 

A dozen minutes later, the warm fumes of tasty stew waft their way to the living room, earning a loud _caw_ much to Clover’s surprise. Reflexively turning to the source of the sound, Clover witnesses a familiar little crow perched on the date branch, cocking his head inquisitively before resuming his meticulous pecking at the fruit on the table. The Atlesian’s stomach growls in hungry jealousy, before his mind puts two and two together and registers that... 

“Wow. I really managed. To get you. On a date.”

At those words, the avian puffs its feathers, talons letting go of the dates it stood upon as wings happily flutter, caught in an apparent fit of laughter. But it doesn’t look like birds can laugh - Clover makes a mental note to look it up later - so the muffled sound echoes more akin to a sneeze. The former operative can no longer contain his own burst of laughter at that endearing noise, soon joined by his boyfriend who shifts back into his human form to better laugh his butt off on the comfy couch. 

“Gotta say, Yang’s pun with her present turned out better than I thought it would,” Clover voices between loud chuckles. “Lucky us, I guess.”

“Dates are so much more filling for a bird stomach,” the shapeshifter justifies once he’s recovered enough, his grumbling belly quickly concurring with his statement.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Just now?”

“As a human, I mean.”

“... rationing? Siege? Does that ring any bells? If I can save food for us by eating as a bird, why should I bother with human food?”

Clover still can’t get over the fact that Qrow would willing starve himself and eat whatever corvids feast on - grains? Worms? _Gross -_ so that others could have more food. But now’s not the time to chastise the Huntsman about it. Nope, now’s the time to make his boyfriend feel comfortable, well-fed, and happy. 

“Because you love my cooking, and because I’m treating you tonight.”

“If you wanna do it properly, then watch the stew before it...”

Just his luck, the Ace Op reacts to the warning in time and turns down the stove before the pan’s contents can boil over. 

“Mind if I help?” warm lips murmur against Clover’s nape as he attempts to clean the counter as he cooks. 

A wayward hand finds its path under the soldier’s ‘best uncle’ apron, a present from Ruby and Weiss of all people, massaging the defined muscles of his chiselled abdomen. With a soft gasp, Clover all but leans into the touch as thin lips trail up the arc of his neck before planting a gentle kiss onto his cheek. 

“You’re not helping,” the Atlesian exhales. 

“Nope.”

“Pick up a knife and go chop the carrots over there.”

“Yes, sir,” Qrow retorts with a mock military salute. 

His agile fingers grab a vegetable knife by the sink - but just his luck, one of the screws comes loose and the blade drops uselessly, clattering against a wet mess of dirty plates. The shapeshifter shrugs rather dramatically, to his partner’s amusement, before drawing Harbinger and getting the job done. 

“Quit staring and stir the stew,” the Huntsman teases affectionately just as Clover thinks he’s never seen anything quite as hot as this beautiful man chopping carrots with deadly speed and precision using one of the most infamous and dangerous weapons in all of Remnant. 

“I never thought you’d enjoy cooking, Qrow. I mean, it doesn’t surprise me you’re good at it, since you’re amazing at everything...”

“Everyone can cook in the tribe. Everyone can cook, fight, start a fire, set up a tent… basic survival things. With my Semblance though, I’d better avoid cooking with other people, or even when others are around. At Beacon, Summer insisted on helping me out, and more often than not we’d spill sauce all over the place. Once, Tai got food poisoning from eating our sushi. Another time, we set my sister’s hair on fire.”

“Wow.”

“But after my Academy days, I was mostly travelling around for work, so I rarely cooked. Still, I’d always jump on the occasion to find myself alone in a kitchen, to cook a dish I know I like. I think you’ve noticed I’m a picky eater.”

“I’ve noticed you’re a _pecking_ eater.”

“Very funny, lucky charm,” he giggles, gently nuzzling into the crook of Clover’s neck as he pours the carrot slices into the hot pan before his boyfriend. 

“Wanna taste?” the younger man offers, holding up a hot ladle full of stew after taking a sip himself. 

A mischievous light dances in Qrow’s eyes before he presses his lips to his partner’s, kissing off the remains of warm sauce. Licking his lips carefully, the shifter appears left in thought when he proclaims:

“Picky eater says that tastes awesome.”

And it ends up just as delicious as the picky eater predicted. Soon, their discarded plates lay on the living room table facing the fireplace, while the two lovers cuddle up on the couch under patchwork plaids, courtesy of the Happy Huntresses, mindlessly watching videos of laughing birds on Clover’s Scroll. 

“You know, winning the Vytal festival isn’t really worth celebrating for me,” Qrow remarks, snugly nested between Clover’s strong arms. “Summer should’ve been in the finals, but she was disqualified in the doubles round, likely due to my Semblance. Raven scolded me for making such a big deal out of the competition, reminded me we were here to learn how to kill Huntsmen, not play their games. But also, that was the first time Ozpin noticed me, among all of his students. The first time he called me to his office and made me a member of his inner circle.”

“The worst luck of your life, huh. Oscar may have told me about that.”

“I’m not too proud about that either. Punching the kid, I mean.”

“I bet he’d forgive you, given how many times you saved his life, given how many times you saved each of these kids. And I know you already know, but I’m proud of you. You deserve to hear that.”

While he speaks, Clover’s hand gently caresses the older man’s stubbly cheek, prompting Qrow to grab his fingers and kiss each digit playfully. Clover can’t tell how many minutes elapse like that, with his lover’s body safely wrapped in his arms, sizzling yellow flames from the fireplace reflecting onto his vermillion irises, transmuting them to rose gold. 

“C’mon, this is much better than a date,” the shapeshifter comments, distractedly watching a video of a tiny parrot laughing like a maniacally evil cartoon villain, which actually turns out to be hilarious. 

“Is it?” Clover echoes, reaching for one of the dates on the table and popping it into his mouth. 

“You’re right, you’re so much sweeter than these dates,” he finally comments after meticulously chewing and spitting out the stone before throwing it into the fire.

“You sure? Why don’t you come here and check?” Qrow retorts.

Ever the obedient, perfect soldier, Clover loses no time in leaning in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I googled laughing birds as part of my research for this fic. Try it, you won’t be disappointed. The whole rationing/siege/can’t go out thing is definitely on my mind because of the lockdown situation where I live. Hopefully I have enough pasta and toilet paper to live till tomorrow, because it’d be a shame not to be able to complete the next prompt (don’t mind my bad sarcasm, I’m doing fine). Cya then xx
> 
> PS: All The Help We Can Get is being updated soon... today or tomorrow... watch that space!


	3. Octopuses have two hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Weapons/family
> 
> This might be my favourite so far, hope you enjoy!  
> Dunno if it really counts toward weapons, but it opens with a fight scene, and a new pretty cool (I hope) weapon shows up at the end. As for family, you'll see :)

“Mind telling me why you picked this mission,” Qrow grunts between two heavy slashes of Harbinger, “when you haven’t got a break in two days and your Aura is in the red?”

Clover can only thank his luck for an ink-tinted tentacle to swing between them right before he can respond. It’d have been too complicated to explain anyway. The exhausted Ace Op only has time to raise his weapon to block before the Kraken Grimm’s appendage tumbles toward him, white circles on the dripping underside of the boneless limb staring at him like morbid eyes. Qrow loops his scythe blade around the tentacle to cleave it, but the elastic member simply swats him aside, his feet sliding on the soaked surface of the narrow jetty. For the umpteenth time, the Atlesian reaches for his lucky pin before throwing out his hook. For the umpteenth time, expectant aqua eyes hope the fishing line will latch around Qrow before he can fall into the wharf’s icy waters. For the umpteenth time, Clover knows he can trust his luck. 

Except now he can’t. 

The operative feels his Aura flicker as a powerful wave suddenly hits him, right after the monster toppled one of the nearby boats into the water. He falls to his knees under the impact, frozen seawater seeping deep into his uniform, chilling him to the bone as salt fills his nose, his mouth, his ears, and he can’t breathe can’t hear can’t see…

Where’s Qrow? 

Clover coughs out the icy liquid, ignoring the familiar burn of salt against his chapped lips. Wiping his brow with one hand while his other arm uses Kingfisher as a cane to prop himself back up, he scans his surroundings for the Huntsman. The Huntsman who of course is nowhere to be seen… it can’t be… the soldier shouldn’t have dragged Qrow into this… into this mission he picked for selfish reasons… it would be his fault if the shapeshifter drowned, if he got harmed or worse, if Clover’s luck failed if his skill failed to save Qrow…

A bad omen. 

The last thing they need is a bad omen, yet an indignant caw resounds overhead as a furious crow loops around the tentacles of the beast, diving toward the pier. Is Clover hallucinating? Crows don’t usually fly this close to the sea. Blinking in wary disbelief, the Ace Op barely notices a tentacle attempting to wrap around him before he tosses his fishing line toward the closest lamp post, using his weapon as a grappling hook to jump out of the way. When he lands onto the humid ground, Clover catches a glimpse of jet-black feathers before registering the sound of a recognisably raspy voice.

“Are you okay? I know you like to show off, but you don’t have to go to such lengths to impress me...”

“Qrow, you’re alive!”

And before either of them notice, Clover’s strong arms wrap the shapeshifter into a tight hug, never intending to let go. Qrow’s hands hesitantly hover for several seconds before resting onto Clover’s waist, momentarily oblivious of the soaked, salty condition of the soldier’s uniform. 

“And you’re wet,” the shapeshifter retorts dryly (pun totally intended), crimson eyes seemingly hesitating between staring back into teal irises and wandering across expanses of torso covered by white fabric now rendered transparent by humidity. 

The jibe prompts a sudden blush to creep across the Ace Op’s neck, before the younger man realises Qrow didn’t mean that in a dirty sense. Nope, definitely not. 

“You can file your complaints later into the mission report,” the team leader teases back, “but now we have bigger fish to fry.” 

Following Clover’s gaze, the Huntsman turns to the giant octopus Grimm, tentacles still wrapped around a helpless fishing boat, Clover and Qrow having achieved little more than temporarily distracting it before they got distracted by each other… ahem. 

“At first, luck jokes, and now fishing jokes?” 

As he speaks, Qrow draws his weapon from behind his back, partially extracting himself from his partner’s embrace. Clover can only repress a shudder as the shifter’s calloused finger brushes along the line of his hipbone in the process. Yup, he’s only wet in the ‘soaked to the bone by seawater’ sense. Yup, most definitely it. Harbinger switches into its gun mode, peppering the monster with bullets that do barely more than rebound with sickening sounds against the squishy black skin, angering the monster that turns to the two fighters. Qrow ducks and rolls under a swiping tentacle, while Clover acrobatically bounces over it. Spinning slowly in mid-air, the Ace Op tries his luck and lashes out his weapon, entangling the rope securely around a tentacle and drawing it down to the jetty with a single, sharp tug. As the flaccid Grimm limb hits the ground with a wet thud, Qrow loses no time in impaling it with his sword, keeping it pinned to the floor as the beast hisses and yanks to no avail. 

With a mock salute, Clover prances onto the wriggling tentacle and runs toward the Kraken’s body still busy grappling the wooden boat. His tired boots slip against the watery, elastic surface, but he collects himself at each stumble along the narrow strip of Grimm limb. As soon as he comes into view of giant red eyes, he throws Kingfisher like a javelin, aiming straight for the dilated iris. Fortunately, his skillful arm corrects for his trip, but unfortunately he fails to catch himself before plummeting into the void between him and frozen waves. A faint rustle of wings caresses his eardrums over the groans of the maddened Grimm, blood spouting out of its stabbed eye. 

And the next thing the operative knows, an iron grip holds him by the hand, breaking his fall. 

“Lucky you I caught you, huh?” Qrow pants, nimbly adjusting his footing to keep both of them in place along the wriggling Grimm tentacle. 

Clover’s eyes dart to the wooden deck of the ship, evaluating the damage caused by the monstrous octopus… As much as the shapeshifter’s grip feels warm, secure, like an anchor steadying him amidst the unleashed sea, they don’t have any time to lose…

“Fun fishing fact,” the Atlesian voices shakily, “octopuses have two hearts.”

It means trust me, I’ve got this, my luck’s got this. It means, trust me, while I let go of your hand. And tumble through the cold air. 

Clover’s fist grabs his weapon as he flies past, but it does nothing to slow his fall. The Kraken notices this, letting go of the boat to open its wide beak, ready for the Ace Op to plummet straight through. And with a last wink toward Qrow, the soldier falls into the monster’s mouth. 

It’s dark inside, but his luck guides his hand. He doesn’t need to see, only to feel the eerie pulsation of two giant hearts. He only needs to drive his weapon straight through one of the pulsing masses, to hear the sudden quietness as only one heartbeat remains, somewhere in the dark, damp distance. He doesn’t need to see the small corvid following him, black against black, turning into a man who stabs his sword straight through the second heart. 

And then, suddenly, it’s too bright. Too cold. The Grimm dissolves into a rain of soaked soot, and Clover falls into the frozen water. His Aura breaks on impact, and each inch of his skin is scalding cold, he can’t move, can’t breathe… White dots prance around his field of vision, just as a meagre string of bubbles drifts upward from his sinking form… 

He can’t tell if he’s hallucinating, when the rough rope of a fishing net caresses his face.

The next thing he knows, his back hits hard, soaked wood, and he coughs out all the watery contents of his lungs onto the deck. His throat is parched, salty, and his hearing still unclear when a familiar voice calls out to him. 

“You’re lucky _I’m_ here.”

He glances upward with difficulty, taking in a striped shirt, thick brown hair emerging from a yellow coat, sea green eyes staring at him warily. 

“May I remind you, Ma’am, that without this huntsman and I you and your fishing boat would’ve been a nice ceviche for the Kraken’s dinner?” Qrow chimes in, a black feather stuck in his windswept hair - Clover will need to talk to him about that, when this is all over. “Show some gratitude at least.”

“Good evening to you too, Ivy,” the soldier greets.

“Wait, you two know each other?… Clover, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” the Ace Op replies, grateful for Qrow’s offered hand helping him back to his feet.

“Hands off my big brother, shapeshifter.”

Wide open red eyes stare back and forth between the soaked specialist and the fisherwoman, noting similar aqua eyes, messy chestnut curls…

“I knew your Semblance was luck, but really? What are the odds?”

“Qrow, you asked me why I chose this mission, despite everything.”

The shifter’s brow furrows with confusion before understanding dawns onto his tired features. He opens his mouth to speak, but Ivy Ebi beats him to it.

“Shamrock here risked his life for a chance to see me. You know, you could visit us back in Argus, that’d be a lot less life-threatening. Pa hasn’t seen you in years.”

“Look, Ivy, I know Pa’s still upset I left, that I didn’t follow in his footsteps and become a fisherman, carrying on the family tradition. It’s just easier if I-”

“If you leave all the hard work to me? If you leave me with Pa’s business, Ma’s illness, and the younger siblings to take care of? While you’re getting lucky with pretty boys in shiny Atlas?”

Witnessing Qrow’s fists balling in rage and Ivy’s fishing net twirling menacingly in her hand in response, Clover steps forward between them before anything can degenerate - neither of them know how dangerous the other can be. 

“Calm down, both of you. When I heard a fishing boat hailing from Argus got attacked in a harbour in Southern Solitas, I signed up for that rescue mission immediately. Part of me hoped that it wasn’t you who were in harm’s way, but part of me also hoped I’d be able to see you. To thank you, for your patience, for all that you’ve done and that I should have done. And also, thank you for saving my life.”

“Well well, Ms Ebi, anything to add?” Qrow drawls. ”You’ve got the perfect brother, the best of the best military huntsmen in Atlas, and also a great guy with an amazing sense of humour and a good luck Semblance for crying out loud. He comes all the way out here low on Aura just to see you, just to save you, and you’ve got the nerve to yell at him? You should consider yourself lucky.”

“His good fortune is a misfortune for people around him,” the fisherwoman spits. “His luck allowed him to get whisked away by Ironwood at a young age, hand-picked to join Atlas Academy on a full scholarship, leaving all of the problems behind for the rest of us at home.”

“Clover’s facing other problems, he’s fighting other wars, wars to protect not just your family, not just Argus or Atlas, but humanity as a whole! And if that weren’t enough, he’s also doing what he can for you! That’s already better than what I could do… for my own family… for my sister...”

Clover can guess Qrow’s misfortune was seen as a burden for his family, can guess the shapeshifter’s surprise to hear that Clover’s own Semblance wasn’t perceived all too differently, after it allowed him to escape his native Argus. He can guess the hints of bitterness in Qrow’s vindictive tone, his insecurity not to have been able to do enough for his family, not to be good enough, perfect enough. And the operative’s heart clenches at that thought, as he’d never been able to think about Qrow in any other way than amazing, than perfect...

“Qrow, it’s okay,” he says, laying a reassuring hand onto his partner’s shoulder. “And Ivy… it’s okay too, really. You didn’t have to come this far north after big game, to risk your life just to impress Pa and prove to him that you’re better than me with my stupid Semblance. You’re more than enough… both of you. Don’t ever feel like you have to prove yourselves to anyone...”

Because I already love both of you, he wants to add, pondering on his word choice before his sibling interrupts.

“Hey, Shamrock, why are you assuming I went all the way to Solitas just to bring big game home for Pa? Maybe I just really wanted to see my big brother.”

“... really?”

“And scold him a little, okay,” she amends quickly. “But mostly because you scared me when you fell and your Aura broke, Clover. You’re the lucky one, don’t waste it taking too many risks. I don’t want to lose you, you’re too important to me.”

And before either man can stop her, she wraps Clover into a tight hug. And it’s like when they were kids, when the winds were good and Pa would praise Clover, when the day’s catch was bad and Pa would blame him too for his laziness with his Semblance usage, and blame Ivy for her still untrained skills. And it’s like when they were kids, when they’d hug and everything else would stop to matter, because they didn’t need to prove themselves to one another, because hot crab soup was waiting for them in Ma’s kitchen no matter what…

“I missed you too, Ivy.”

Her calloused hand taps the back of his drenched uniform, and the fabric dries instantly, the water droplets dancing and coalescing between her fingers under the effect of her Semblance. She smirks mischievously, and the translucent liquid takes the elegant shape of a trident, pointy ends almost touching Qrow’s neck while she doesn’t loosen her grip on her brother. 

“And _you_ ,” she sneers, “don’t think I haven’t realised you’re Qrow Branwen, the famous huntsman and my brother’s idol when he was younger. I’ve seen what you can do with Harbinger, and that feather on your head is a dead giveaway. And don’t think I haven’t realised how you and my brother stare at each other, and how you freaked out when he was drowning before I saved him. I’m not my Pa, I’m not mad at it on principle, but if you hurt a single hair on my brother’s head, and I won’t hesitate to stab you with your own tears, sweat, and blood.”

Her transparent weapon catches the faint reflections of the cloudy sunset, iridescent lights travelling up and down the sharp tips of the trident, beautiful yet lethal. 

“Your Semblance is aquakinesis, and yet you’re jealous of Clover?! Um, I mean, understood, Ma’am, I would never think of hurting your brother.”

“Huh, that’s better,” she pouts, snapping her fingers for theatricality as the trident rains down the wooden deck, dissolving as quickly as it appeared. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go prepare Shamrock’s favourite crab soup in the cabin.”

“Lucky us, huh?” Clover echoes with a low chuckle, still bewildered that Ivy had caught onto Qrow’s shapeshifting _and_ his feelings toward him even before the Ace Op himself could be certain.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” Qrow whispers into the soldier’s ear. 

“She could’ve killed you a second ago, if she wanted to. And don’t worry, good cooking skills run in the family.”

“So does showing off, apparently.”

Clover wants to protest, but a warm hug interrupts him. That’s more hugs than he usually has per day, but it’s not like he can complain when the legendary Qrow Branwen has his arms wrapped around Clover’s shoulders, crepuscular lights gleaming in his vermillion eyes and a pleasant smirk playing at his soft, kissable lips -

“Oh, and remove that feather from your boyfriend’s hair, Clover,” Ivy calls out from the cabin. ”It looks ridiculous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy Ebi is a character I made up for my other fic, All The Help We Can Get, she gets a passing mention there. So if you want, go check that out afterwards, I should be updating around tonight-ish. Til then, stay warm and posted xx


	4. Luck isn't a superpower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: birds/soulmates  
> (Remember Domino from Deadpool? The one who’s always ridiculously lucky. This is the same kind of premise, but with Clover in Domino’s shoes. Never knew you needed that? Me neither… until now mwahahaha)  
> Content note: Superhero AU. But with soulmates. With a side of Snowbyrd (Winter x Robyn) :)

“Luck isn’t a superpower,” Tin Man declares, arching an incredulous brow that almost touches the metal band on his forehead. 

On either side of his desk, White Witch crosses her arms skeptically, while Ultronia cocks her head with an encouraging smile, her rebellious strand of red hair tilting to the side. Behind her team leader, Lady Bird stops her frantic pacing, the pausing sound of her clicking heels leaving the room in sudden silence. Clover takes a deep breath, this job interview isn’t going as well as he hoped.

“And why not?” he challenges.

“Because that’d be OP,” Ultronia pouts. 

“That wouldn’t be fair game,” White Witch agrees. 

“Roll credits,” Clover sighs, rolling his eyes in the general direction of the fourth wall. 

“Can you at least show us how it works?” Tin Man wonders with a hint of impatience.

“Uh… if you would please shoot me?”

Fortunately, Tin Man doesn’t flinch at that, drawing his gun and immediately firing half a dozen rounds at his interviewee. The younger man steps out of the way of the first few bullets, which could just be chalked up to beginner’s luck… until he draws his weapon, its metal hilt blocking another round before the fishing hook flies out with practised ease, latching onto the trigger of his opponent’s gun and disarming him. Brutally hitting the hard desk, the firearm randomly lets out a shot into the ceiling, causing a small slab of concrete to drop. Right into the job applicant’s hands, who holds it up as a shield to block his interviewer’s metal fist, rendered ineffective. 

“Ultronia, Lady Bird,” the team leader calls out. 

Ultronia reacts first, releasing a handful of drone-powered swords from behind her back and launching them toward Clover, who dodges closely but nonchalantly. A nearly invisible metal cable trailing behind a floating blade grazes his face, forcing him to bend backward acrobatically in a move that would make any Neo of any universe proud. Meanwhile, Lady Bird narrows her blue eyes at him, summoning a graceful flock of silvery avians to dive straight toward him. In the light of the magical feathered creatures, he notices all the thin wires connecting the robot girl’s swords to her body, and throws out his hook in a circular motion, deflecting one of the blades and making it loop around another sword, which ricochets against a summoned dove… until all the cables are but a tangled mess, practically incapacitating the swords. 

But his fishing line wrapped up in this mess also makes Clover essentially weaponless, with only his strong arms to shield his face from Lady Bird’s attacks. Blindly, he pokes at one of the birds with the butt of his fishing rod, stabbing it in the eye, just his luck. Next, he withdraws a horseshoe from his belt, tossing it into the air after a brief twirl around his finger. The projectile loops around a dove’s neck, deflecting its trajectory just enough for it to bump into its neighbour, taking out both birds with one stone. The flying horseshoe rebounds against a wall, knocks out a last bird, deflects one of Tin Man’s bullets, bounces off the desk, before safely returning to Clover’s gloved palm. The gunslinger shoots him one last round, only for him to pick up one of Ultronia’s swords and lunge straight ahead, the sharp blade tip neatly splitting the flying bullet into two equal halves.

“Not bad,” Tin Man comments. 

“Thank y-”

A wave of magenta energy interrupts Clover, sending him outside of his body and into some magical psychedelic plane. Before him, White Witch levitates, her green eyes gleaming with magical energy. 

“And here I thought the Ancient one was an old Asian man,” Clover remarks. “Turns out he’s a Causasian pale skinned woman, every time. That’s whitewashing.”

“That’s sexist,” White Witch retorts, slapping his knee with her riding crop just strongly enough to startle him. 

“Now I have your attention,” she continues, “James’s intuition was correct. Luck isn’t really your superpower. It’s something else. Look around.”

He obeys - and sees an intricate network of lines connecting points in space, like a cobweb reflected on the many facets of a violet geode. At each extremity of the line, a silhouette glistens, bouncing or crouching, dark or pale, or any shade in between. Each human form has a single thread, connecting its heart to another silhouette’s. Clover’s own heart makes no exception.

“Soulmates,” he understands. 

“Each person has a unique soulmate. Each human being, superpowered or not.”

“I know th-”

“Now here are the superpowered ones,” she waves her hand around a complex pentacle, causing a majority of the silhouettes and lines to vanish into thin air. “Each superhero or supervillain as another superpowered being, with opposite abilities, and that balances out the universe.”

“Really? I thought mutants showed up in red in Cerebro.”

“Now let’s see,” she demonstrates, shrinking the spinning glyph in her palm so that only one line remains - originating from Clover’s heart, and connecting him to a hazy form in the distance. “This is your soulmate. I can sense his superpower isn’t bad luck, because good and bad luck are one and the same, equivalent to manipulating probabilities. No, his ability is that he absorbs every hit you should have taken, so that you emerge from every situation unscathed.”

“So… his superpower is to get injured seemingly for no reason while I live my best life as an aspiring superhero? That’s lame.”

“Indeed, but at least we figured it out.”

He stares at the elusive contours of the slender silhouette, wondering who that person might be, how he might feel with that annoying ability, what shade his eyes might be… But before Clover can find out more, he crumples to the floor and back to his corporeal form, Tin Man and the rest of his team towering over him. 

“You’re hired, kid. Welcome to the team. Wanna choose a superhero name?”

* * *

“Lucky Charm is _not_ a superhero name,” Lightning Hare comments, chewing on her shawarma. 

“What’s wrong with it? It’s short, sweet, memorable...” Golden Healer retorts between two gulps of his drink

“Doesn’t sound deadly enough, maybe,” Thunder Thigh shrugs while scarfing down her third sandwich.

Lady Bird wordlessly scowls at them as she straightens her white hair bun, making sure any loose strands stay away from the greasy food.

They’ve just defeated a squadron of Salem’s army, thanks to teamwork and that awesome finishing attack where Tin Man threw his gun, pretending to be out of bullets, and Clover’s hook caught it mid-flight, pulling the trigger to shoot a bullet straight into the villain queen’s heart. Of course, that was but one avatar of the evil alien monarch, and they know she’ll be back eventually for her human soulmate, still hellbent to murder all of his planet to impress him as seems to be custom for her species. Still, their small victory calls for celebration, and celebration is usually shawarma as per superhero tradition.

“You’re not eating, James?” Clover prompts his neighbour quietly, offering him some of his fries. 

But to his dismay, their team leader just hides his chin awkwardly, refusing to take any bite.

“Our fearless leader Tin Man accepted a contract to play himself in a biopic,” Ultronia explains cheerfully. “And they’re filming Volume 2 currently, so he had to shave his beard, but he doesn’t want the media to catch on to that. Isn’t that so meta?”

“Mood,” Thunder Thighs agrees. “Hey, can someone pass me the salt?”

With a suppressed sigh, Stretchyman reaches out an elastic arm over half the table, grabbing the salt and depositing it next to her plate. Poor guy with his power must be spending his time passing things around he must barely have time to eat, Clover reflects. 

“Thanks,” she replies between rapid munches. 

“I’ll have some too, if you don’t mind,” Polarity says, using her namesake ability to float the metal tip of the container toward her. 

Unfortunately, the glass part under the steel lid falls off on the way, sprinkling the salt all over the table and Clover’s plate. 

“I’m sorry!” the redhead cries out, bringing her hand to her lips. 

“Don’t worry, you dropped just the right amount for my food to be so much more delicious,” the luckiest team member assures. 

Golden Healer whispers something into Polarity’s ear, and she giggles softly. The two of them haven’t found their soulmates, but it’s essentially as if they’re soulmates, they’ve been together since before they started their superhero careers, and it seems they’ll stay together no matter what destiny has to say about it. Thunder Thighs and Zen Master are well on their way to achieving the same status, even though they may not be there yet, at least officially. Among the team, only Timber Girl and Stretchyman are soulmates and an actual couple. Their personalities complement well, like fire and ice, day and night, cat and mouse, even though it’s sometimes unclear which is which. 

“So… are you trying to find a new alias?” Sergeant K9 nudges Clover over the shoulder. “I suggest Probability.”

“Sounds like Polarity, but more boring,” Lightning Hare judges.

“Or Chaos Mage?”

“I like it, but then wouldn’t they expect me to do magic, like White Witch and Lady Bird?”

“You’re right… Shamrock?”

“Synonyms of your name are ill-advised, if you want to preserve your secret identity,” Lady Bird chastises. 

“You’re bitter because you couldn’t choose anything to do with snow, ice, or winter,” Sergeant K9 counters. 

“It’s not my fault if nobody takes your moniker seriously and everybody thinks your superpower is controlling luggage in airports,” the white-haired woman snaps back. 

Sergeant K9 looks down at his shawarma, disheartened and unable to come up with more ideas, until Lightning Hare gives him a pat on the back which makes him spit out half of his food, but still makes him look somewhat comforted. Lightning Hare and Sergeant K9 are also soulmates, the former’s powers being acceleration and the latter’s based on slowing down time, but there’s no way they could become a couple. Even over time, the bond they’d developed through fighting side by side can hardly be termed fire-forged friendship, but rather fire-forged bare tolerance of one another in a professional capacity. Still, it doesn’t work out too badly for them.

Ultronia, as a robot, doesn’t have a soulmate, and is happy without one. Tin Man, on the other hand, is rumoured to be a time traveller who had found his soulmate in the future, but travelled back to the present to prevent his soulmate’s death… it’s a long timey-wimey story, and Clover’s not too sure he believes it. Anyway, it’s not like they can use that storyline for the Tin Man movies without getting copyright infringement from the Mouse House (not that they have to worry: origin stories aren’t needed to make a good movie, Spiderman Homecoming being living proof of that, while origin stories don’t necessarily make for good movies, looking at you BvS...).

“What about you, Lady Bird? Found your soulmate yet?” Clover asks matter-of-factly.

“Fire Princess.”

He immediately chokes on his drink.

“Salem’s henchwoman? I’m sorry, that must be terrible to think you’ll end up with her.”

“It’s not, actually. I mean, it used to be, but then I understood that we won’t fall in love in any capacity, so that means I’m not bound to anyone, and I’m free to love whoever I want, to carve my own path.”

“You have a great outlook on things.”

“No, what pains me is to know that she went to Salem’s side because of me. More precisely, because her fire powers are painful and hard to control, that’s how she burnt her whole arm off. So she wants to kill me so that it will nullify her powers, to keep the balance. It’s my very existence and my allegiance to the superhero side that made her turn to the dark side.”

“Really? I always thought it was because they had cookies. But seriously, Lady Bird, don’t think that because of this whole balance thing, you aren’t fighting for good by being on the right side. You’re not like her, you don’t take pride in killing civilians, and you strive to save more people than she can harm by teaming up with the rest of us, that’s what matters.”

“What are you two talking about?” Thunder Thighs intervenes, leaning in closer to their conversation. “Of course cookies are a good reason to join the dark side.”

“Or pancakes,” Polarity muses. “Zen Master makes the most delicious pancakes.”

* * *

“Get her to safety!” Tin Man yells, shooting at the monsters amidst the fray. 

“Yes, sir,” Clover pants, slinging an injured Lady Bird’s arm across his neck, still holding his weapon in one hand. 

“I can still fight,” she protests weakly.

Wiping the blood off her chin with her gloved hand, she elicits a small glyph, unleashing a flock of birds onto the large wolf-like monster towering behind their team leader. The summons do little more than slow down the gigantic creature… long enough for Tin Man to grab it by the forepaw with his metal arm - ‘dude, you have a metal arm? Cool!’ Sergeant K9 had exclaimed the first time he saw it - lifting the monster overhead and shooting it through the skull without even looking. 

“You have to get somewhere safe before Fire Princess finds you. You have no time to l-”

As if on cue, a maelstrom of flames hurls toward them, charring the asphalt to ashes on its path. Luckily standing out of the way, Clover pushes Lady Bird to the side in the small space between two parked cars and throws his fishing line to wrap it around Team Man, ragdolling him into the nearest sidewalk and away from the fire. As he struggles to free himself from the rope, Lady Bird staggers back to her feet, opening her hands to produce a series of spinning white platforms. Clover’s jaw drops as a giant white wolf materialises on each glyph, immediately charging toward Fire Princess from whose hands the fire is originating. The supervillain burns down a couple of summons, but the remainder manages to close the distance, surrounding her in a tangle of sharp-clawed limbs and deadly jaws and shielding the superhero team from the flames. Lady Bird blows a kiss, and the wolves turn to ice, keeping her soulmate and nemesis temporarily trapped.

“Woah,” Clover summarises elegantly, while his female teammate sways on her feet in the aftermath of her magic overuse, fortunately tumbling straight into his muscular arms.

“What, thought I could only make cute white doves?” she snorts into his chiselled chest. “I went easy on you because the boss doesn’t want me killing people during interviews.”

Before he can think of something snarky to reply, his ears sense Tin Man cocking his gun again, ready to apprehend Fire Princess when she eventually gets free. The team leader shoots his subordinate a quick look, prompting Clover to carry Lady Bird under a bridge into the nearest dead end. Noting the monsters following them, she reaches out a hand to cast a thin veil of ice over the bridge, the cooling rendering its metal backbone brittle. Her lucky teammate understands and swings his hook upward, the metal tip embedding exactly into the right weak spot for him to bring the whole structure down with a single, powerful tug. As it collapses, the bridge cuts the two superheroes off from the main street and buries their monstrous pursuers under the rubble. 

“Golden Healer?” Clover calls onto comms, setting his comrade down to a sitting position. “We’re in need of immediate medical assistance, do you copy our location?”

Only a burst of static replies, the alien spacecraft overhead deliberately jamming all of their communications. 

“Clover,” the wounded superhero whispers urgently, grasping his hand in hers. “Promise me...”

“It’s just a scratch, Golden Healer will patch you up in no time. You’ll be okay. Just hang on.”

“Promise me, Clover...”

“What? That I’ll take care of Jon Snow?”

She tries to chuckle, only for a ribbon of blood to pour down from her lips. His heart clenches in his chest - no, this can’t be, this can’t be… What did he expect, anyway, that the life of a superhero would be all saving the world, fame, and playful banter? Rather than holding the hand of a grievously injured teammate in a deserted alleyway?

“Fire Princess… give her what she... deserves… and my dad too…”

And he doesn’t know what to respond, because he doesn’t know if he can, if he’s ready to forsake who he is to avenge a fallen comrade, if that’s what being a hero is all about.

“Scorpion stabbed you real bad, you’re losing a lot of blood. You’re not thinking straight.”

In his strong hand, her fingers are going too cold too quickly. And for all his strength, for all his luck, there’s nothing he can do nothing but wait nothing but pray and hope...

“Do you… want me… to shut up? Fine...”

“No! Winter, talk to me,” he exhales, dropping all pretenses of using made up names. “Stay with me. I’m not going anywhere, I’m here for you, and I just want to know you’re still here with me. Talk to me, about anything, I don’t mind.”

“Leprechaun… is a stupid… superhero name...”

Okay, maybe he does mind, especially since he just changed his alias and thought he quite liked it. 

“Why?”

“You’d need the big hat… and the pot of gold…”

“And the rainbow? That I could get behind...”

“But the hat… would look… completely...”

“On that we agree.”

“You look… better… without the hat...”

“Must be the blood loss talking,” he mutters as her hand reaches weakly for his face. 

“Don’t you dare… deflect a compliment… you don’t look bad.”

And then it dawns on him - though she’s met her soulmate, she hasn’t found love yet, and she might never do. Might never feel complete in this world where a line connects each heart to another, might never know what true love’s kiss felt like. And it sounds stupid. It sounds stupid, but he can relate, because he can’t imagine why his soulmate would ever want to kiss him, or even have anything to do with him, since he’d enforced so much pain and misfortune onto his soulmate’s life. And in a world where superheroes’ soulmates were usually just as cool and powerful, the imbalance between him and his soulmate always makes his stomach lurch, because how could that even be fair game? 

“Clover… can you...”

And he looks down at her mussed up hair, moon-tinted strands pouring down her slender shoulders, blue eyes reflecting the moonlit sky amidst her porcelain face. She’s beautiful, of course she is, but in that instant the glint of hope that still glimmers in her irises is the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen in his life. He’s fought monsters, killed alien queens, seen cities collapse and cities fly, but he’s never seen anything so stunning, never been so afraid of what to do next, of whether that’s right, of whether that’s good. 

Still, he bends down and drops a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to overwhelm her. 

“Winter, you aren’t alone. You don’t have to be alone. We don’t have to be alone.”

And as she tugs at his lapel, pulling him further down so she can press her forehead to his, he thinks maybe that’s what they should do. Close the gap between their lips, close the gash loneliness carved in their hearts, pull against the strings of fate drawing them apart and toward their respective soulmates. And that it’s not good, or right, but at least it helps them feel alive after destiny’s left them on the wayside, since she can’t possibly love her soulmate, and he can’t possibly be loved by his…

Just his luck, a deafening crash echoes as a car drives right through their rubble barrier, all lights ablaze blinding both superheroes in the dead of night. The vehicle’s scratched and tattered, covered with debris and monster blood, even with char marks that could have been courtesy of Fire Princess. Still, the driver stumbles out as if unaffected, losing no time in pointing a gun at Clover. 

With a way too anticlimactic sound, the bullet leaves the barrel, rebounds ineffectively against Clover’s lucky pin, hits the car rear mirror, bouncing off that surface to embed itself into the shooter’s shoulder. The man winces under the pain, moonlight illuminating his pale, even features distorted by suffering. But the expression of determination animating the gait of his slender, lithe frame remains unchanged, apparently undeterred. 

Clover doesn’t move. 

With a last, desperate war cry, Winter draws her sword and lunges toward the stranger, who only has time to open the car door all the way to shield himself. She collapses upon impact with the metal surface, leaving an umpteenth scratch on the paint. Her blade dropping out of her hand, she shoots the newcomer a glance, whispering something in a last ditch effort to sway him (something along the lines of ‘save Martha’? Clover can’t be sure he heard correctly, not that he cares right now) before falling unconscious. 

Clover doesn’t move. 

Can’t move. 

Can’t breathe. 

Can only hear his heartbeat blaring at his eardrums, the heartstring that connects him to the stranger right before him thrumming with every pulse. 

“You’re my soulmate.”

“Right, Captain Obvious. No extra brownie points for that.”

Of course, his soulmate had to have a dry sense of humour. And a raspy, deep, manly voice just low enough to make Clover’s heart flutter. And fascinating vermillion eyes catching stray moonlight rays and transmuting silver glimmers to gold. And a heart-shaped face, ivory skin, though marred with scratches and bruises, standing out among messy raven hair in the cold nighttime lighting. And long, agile fingers who clutch his shot shoulder as if it were nothing, and slim, endless legs like a bird of prey’s, ready to attack. 

Of course, that was just Clover’s luck. Yup, just his luck that he falls in love immediately. 

“Go ahead, shoot me and nullify your ability, you must’ve suffered enough already. I won’t hurt you, won’t even do anything to defend myself. I wouldn’t hurt a civilian.”

“Civilian? I’m registered as super-able. And with all the injuries you caused me, I’ve developed high tolerance to pain. You could call that a superpower, since you took all the cool powers and left me with nothing but bad luck.”

“I know that’s totally unfair. Shoot me, but just promise to take Lady Bird to hospital afterwards. She’s a fighter for good, and she’s never done anything to hurt you.”

“Funny that, I’m sure I woke up once in the morning with unexplained scratches from bird beaks and claws. And then, wounds poisoned by alien saliva, with a monster tooth still impaled in my side. And just today, burn marks with the magical aura of Fire Princess all over them. Only had to watch the news to check out where she was last sighted. How did you think I tracked you down, figured out your identity and your location?”

“You’d have made a good detective.”

“Lucky guess, that’s actually my day job.”

“Look, I’ve had a long day fighting monsters out there -”

“And I’ve had a long day taking all the damage from you fighting monsters, crashing into more monsters with my car in all the traffic jam, slamming at top speed through Crazy Fire Mage while she was melting that little tin soldier of yours, driving through your wall of rubble, and almost getting skewered by Ice Queen over there. Oh, and getting shot in the shoulder, and having my name spelt wrong on my cup at Starbucks this morning.”

“Woah, you took out Fire Princess on your own, without superpowers other than getting hurt for no reason? That’s incredible.”

“Actually, your boss distracted her for me for a second or two.”

“Don’t you dare deflect a compliment.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. We’re both tired, so let’s get done with this.”

“I concur.”

Clover swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his tightening throat. 

“Wait, how can I be sure that I can shoot you and it won’t backfire and hurt me again for some reason?”

“... no idea. I thought you planned that through.”

“I did. But I thought that it wouldn’t bother me no matter which one of us dies, as long as one of us bites the dust and the other’s powers disappear.”

“No, wait. You… you can’t possibly be meaning that. You can’t possibly be ready to die… I mean, it’s not like I never thought my soulmate would have such thoughts given all I did to him, but… you’re different. You’re so much better than all I could have imagined, all I could possibly have hoped for. You’re strong, brave, in spite of everything you are, because of everything you are, and you were able to turn your curse into an advantage to find me. You can’t give up now. Not when you’re so close.”

“Do you have a crush or something?”

“... What if I do?”

“If I reciprocate your crush, would that be just your luck? Or a consequence of the soul bond thing? Or would that be because you can convince me you actually deserve it?”

Clover’s favourite superhero once said it’s not about deserving, it’s about what I believe in, and I believe in love. Not that he can actually repeat that, because at that moment it sounds corny as hell, and he’s trying to sound suave, especially since what he says next may well be his last words. 

So he doesn’t say anything, and instead pulls his soulmate into a hug, only as a show of support, apology, and understanding even though he could never fully relate to what Qrow went through. It might just be the forces of destiny tugging at that thread between their hearts, pulling them together, when their lips somehow meet halfway. It feels right, of course it does, but they still move hesitantly, as if time didn’t matter any more as they brush their mouths together with infinite gentleness. And time stops, and everything else ceases to exist, while Clover’s fingers tangle into the other man’s feathery hair, tugging softly at his scalp and eliciting the softest of moans against his lips. 

“Too much?” he worries, pulling back with teal eyes full of concern.

“Don’t you give yourself too much credit. I was surprised, that’s all. I expected this to be a lot rougher.”

“Me too, honestly.”

Only at this point does he notice that the stranger is still comfortably nested between his arms, gun dropped to the floor in shock and long forgotten. As Clover shifts awkwardly to tighten his embrace, his soulmate nuzzles into his neck, rebellious black hair pleasantly tickling the superhero’s skin.

“What’s your name?”

“Qrow.”

“Like the bird?”

“Nope, with a Q.”

Between this guy and Lady Bird, Clover starts to think he has something for birds. Not that it’s a bad thing.

“No wonder they got it wrong at Starbucks.”

“Just my luck.”

“So what do you think? Still think I just got lucky to be soulmates with you, or starting to believe I deserve you with my amazing kissing skills?”

“Can’t tell, show-off. Maybe we need to try that again, just to be sure?”

Clover couldn’t agree more, but as soon as their lips touch, a loud growl echoes. Two wolf-shaped monsters found their way through the opening made by Qrow’s car, ready to charge at the two soulmates. Just as the superhero brings a hand to his weapon, a low whirring sound vibrates behind him, and a grappling hook nests itself into one of the wolves’ heart. Ignoring the creature’s dying shriek, the weapon’s wielder slams its heavy body into its comrade’s. The second monster stumbles to the side, but doesn’t fail to notice the projectile thrown by the mysterious attacker, catching it with bloodied teeth. A low whistling tune warns them before the gadget explodes, blowing the monster’s head right off. 

“Ew,” Qrow comments, paling in Clover’s embrace while wiping the blood off their faces. 

“You’re welcome, five o’clock shadow,” the newcomer snorts, landing elastically atop Qrow’s vehicle because it looks cool, while tucking her grappling gun back into its holster on her utility belt. 

“Nightfeather,” Clover recognises the masked vigilante, the city’s infamous non-superpowered hero coming to their rescue.

“And you are?”

“... still working on the alias,” he responds wryly after realising revealing his real name to possibly the world’s two greatest detectives is likely a bad idea. 

“That’s a mouthful,” she teases distractedly while checking Lady Bird’s pulse and breathing. “She’s unconscious, but she’ll live. You two lovebirds continue what you’re doing, I’ll take her to Golden Healer.”

“You have all my gratitude,” Clover says.

“Yeah, thanks for the save, Ms Hill,” Qrow adds, prompting a sudden shocked expression on the unconcealed part of her face. 

Losing np time, Nightfeather picks up Lady Bird bridal style and shoots toward the nearest rooftop with her grappling gun, the retracting rope dragging both women upward and out of Clover and Qrow’s sight. Immediately after that, Clover’s earpiece beeps, Tin Man’s voice asking where he and Winter are.

“She’s with Golden Healer, and I’m… on my way back to headquarters.”

“I need to get my car fixed,” Qrow comments flatly.

“That would be advisable.”

“Right, you should get going. I’m sure I’ll see you around, lucky charm.”

And before they part ways, he doesn’t forget to drop a soft peck on the madly blushing superhero’s cheek.

* * *

“His life, or the world?” Salem bellows, her giant sky beam lighting up the oversized hologram of her floating head, her hairdo as gigantic as something straight out of Jack Kirby’s fever dreams. 

Despite the grim situation, Clover can’t help thinking that it’s all desperately cliché, the huge portal to space bringing in her alien army, and her offering him a choice between his soulmate and the fate of the planet. Underneath her disembodied head, Scorpion, her craziest henchman, stands facing Clover across the rooftop, his stinger wrapped around Qrow’s chest and its deadly tip almost touching Qrow’s pale neck. On a nearby roof, Fire Princess is fending off both Lady Bird and Nightfeather, the two girlfriends putting up a decisively good fight. The summoner and the vigilante had gotten unexpectedly close over the weeks, moving with surprising chemistry in battle as if they’d been soulmates: from watching them, it’d be impossible to guess that Lady Bird’s actually soulmates with the supervillain, and that Nightfeather doesn’t even have superpowers or care about soulmates. For they’d both carved their own path, straying away from destiny to find love, and now ready to fight destiny itself to protect the world and their relationship.

“So what’s it gonna be, Captain Chaos? What will you choose? I always ask you supes this question and the answer never gets boring.”

Okay, Salem’s got a point? Clover’s getting pretty clueless and desperate, but at least he can now say his superhero alias doesn’t sound so bad when spoken by the villain. 

“He doesn’t have to choose, because he’s not alone,” a female voice claims behind Captain Chaos, as White Witch levitates on a giant purple pentacle, landing atop the roof next to Clover. 

She lashes out her weapon, releasing a magenta shock wave that travels harmlessly through Qrow and hits Scorpion. Scorpion whose eyes glow purple under the magical attack, while an unhinged grin distorts his features. His hands soon glimmer violet, and Clover can only watch in horror as the henchman’s body seems to drain the shimmering light from White Witch, absorbing her magical energy and her life force. Glowering, the villain swivels around while still holding Qrow, thrusting his stinger toward White Witch. As she blocks with her riding crop, she doesn’t notice his boot sweeping her off her feet, causing her to topple off the roof’s ledge. 

“Glynda!” Clover shrieks, momentarily forgetting about secret identities and the whatnot. 

He swings his fishing line downward, wrapping the rope around her arm to drag her back to his side, safely on the surface of the roof. She shoots him a grateful glance, but the magic still fizzles out from her palms, and she’s still powerless and vulnerable after her energy was captured by Scorpion, still proudly shining in bright magenta. 

“He’s your soulmate?!” Captain Chaos asks, dumbfounded. 

“Yes, he can absorb the magic that I emit, and deplete people’s energy. Why are you surprised? Who do you think was my soulmate?”

He doesn’t have an answer, as she stares at the henchman with the same disgust with which she considers every supervillain, with the same detached lack of sexual interest she has for everyone really. Clover had assumed that Scorpion’s superpower was the stinger, but of course that appendage had been a gift from Salem to her closest followers, just like Fire Princess’s replacement arm. 

“Will you accept my deal?” the evil queen repeats. “Back off from my portal, and let your soulmates go unharmed? Or watch Scorpion throw your little bird into the portal and be blasted off to space? I hope you choose wisely.”

Upon these words, Salem’s floating head vanishes with a puff of smoke.

“You take care of the portal, I’ll deal with your soulmate and Scorpion,” Glynda hisses to her teammate. “Whatever you do, don’t get close to my soulmate, one of us being powerless is way enough.”

“How can I…”

Calling upon some stored magic in her riding crop, she whips him in his namesake metal pin, causing it to grow the size of his torso and promptly drop off his lapel under its increased weight. 

“The backside makes a decent mirror if you take off the safety pin. Put it in the way of the sky beam to reflect it back to itself, and it’ll self-destruct.”

“Wow, thanks!”

He holds up the giant pin like a shield because it looks funny and it fits the Captain American vibe he’s going for. 

“And Clover?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

As she speaks, she steps toward the ledge once more, balancing back and forth on her high-heeled shoes before hailing Scorpion with a wave of her hand. 

“Hey Tyrian, look who’s about to nullify you!”

The villain startles for mere seconds at her implications and her knowledge of his secret name, barely relaxing his grip long enough for Qrow to elbow him in the face and wrench free. Clover seizes his chance and throws the pin with a spinning motion flying toward the base of the sky beam before being deflected by Scorpion’s stinger. At the brief contact of his projectile with Tyrian’s body, Captain Chaos shivers at the sensation of his powers being drained, replaced by a sudden uneasy emptiness as if his limbs were filled with cotton.

He catches the flying pin using his hook just in time to see Qrow pummeling Salem’s henchman into the sky beam, just before Tyrian uses his stinger to trip Clover’s soulmate and revert their positions. Reflexively, he rushes in between the two opponents, holding up his makeshift shield to block Scorpion’s roundhouse kick. Clinging onto the edge of the giant pin, Scorpion peers into aqua eyes curiously, losing no time draining Clover’s energy. An impact in the back from Glynda’s riding crop destabilises him momentarily. Grunting with frustration, he spins on his head over the surface of the shield while his boots kick White Witch and Captain Chaos on either side of him. But before he can regain his footing, the mage grabs him into a chokehold with her weapon, allowing Qrow to sock the villain in the jaw with a mean right hook. Ordinary non-superpowered people would’ve held back not to hurt their fists, but it’s not like Qrow really cares about the pain or about extra broken bones in his hand.

“Get back,” Clover orders, ushering his soulmate behind his back and toward the sky beam. 

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He winks, and Qrow gapes in such a way that this must be the most meme-able moment of his life. 

Pushing off a semi-conscious, depleted Glynda, Tyrian lunges toward the two soulmates again, Captain Chaos countering his attack with the pin. Just Clover’s luck, Tyrian briefly slips against the rooftop before his draining powers really kick in. His opponent senses himself go weak in the knees, breaths shallower as the enlarged pin feels suddenly heavy in his hands. But rather than try to push on, he opens the safety pin and stabs himself with the giant needle. 

Okay, maybe stab is a bit much - the needle glances his arm as it springs open, but of course, with his luck, it doesn’t wound him. Obviously, it wounds Qrow instead. In practice, none of them really know what happened, probably the pin slipped between Clover’s fingers, rebounding haphazardly against the floor to end up in his soulmate’s hands, the needle scratching his wrist in the process. Either way, with a pout and a shrug, Qrow ignores his bleeding arm and holds the pin up over the portal, reflecting the beam onto its own source. 

And with a flash of bright light, everything explodes. 

And then, they’re all falling. Clover reaches for his fishing line, wondering how to catch both Glynda and Qrow while they tumble through rains of debris. But he notices a familiar sound of blades singing through the air, as Ultronia flies in to swoop White Witch into her arms, using her deceptively strong robot body to lift her as if she weighed nothing. Meanwhile, a flock of silvery summons flies beneath them, breaking Qrow’s fall and lowering him slowly to the ground. Just his luck, Captain Chaos falls into a swimming pool. More precisely, into a unicorn themed donut buoy floating amidst a swimming pool, the creature’s soft rainbow horn poking him squarely in his shapely behind. The elastic collision causes him to rebound several feet into the air, just in time for him to whip out his hook and swing himself away from the water and…

… straight into Qrow’s awaiting arms. Just his luck, of course. 

“You know I wouldn’t have died from the fall, right? You didn’t have to catch me.”

“I didn’t want to spend the next few weeks with a sprained ankle if you fell,” his soulmate grumbles, red eyes shining with adorable relief. 

“Love ya too, Qrow” Clover says distractedly, ruffling feathery jet black hair with his large hand. 

“Get a room, you two,” Lady Bird comments, shielding Ultronia’s innocent eyes with a gloved hand. 

Just behind the robot girl, Scorpion staggers to his feet, covered in cuts and rubble, only for Nightfeather to shoot him with an electrified dart before finishing him off with a kick to the face. 

“Tin Man, this is Lady Bird,” Winter speaks through comms while wrapping her arm around her girlfriend’s waist, “sky beam is destroyed, and Scorpion and Fire Princess are incapacitated. Over.”

“Congratulations, team,” Ultronia announces, clapping her hands excitedly while momentarily forgetting she’s supporting a weakened Glynda, who immediately swoons to the ground in a dead faint. “We should get to Golden Healer, I have to leave see you in the post-credit scene goodbye salutations!!!”

And cradling White Witch in her arms, she takes to the sky leaving nothing behind but a pale trace of green. 

“It’s okay, you can put me down now,” Clover tells his soulmate, who’s clearly a lot stronger than he looks. 

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then don’t complain if you get back problems.”

“Fine, sure.”

“Since you boys are too busy with being lovey-dovey soulmates, we can take the prisoners to headquarters,” Winter offers. “Sounds good, Robyn?”

“Sounds like a date.”

“You two have a weird notion of dating,” Qrow says, tilting his head as Lady Bird and Nightfeather, or birds of a feather as everyone calls them, walk away hand in hand. 

“And we don’t?” Clover whispers into Qrow’s ear, lips trailing against his earlobe. “On our first date you tried to shoot me.”

“I shot myself. Accidentally.”

“Serves you right for shooting me.”

“By the way, I recall you owed me a kiss.”

“Well, it’s because you went after me that Scorpion eventually found you and kidnapped you, so I suppose it’s my fault and the least I can do to apologise is to give you that kiss I promised. If you accept my apologies, of course.”

“Less talking, more making out,” Qrow pouts. 

And Clover doesn’t need to be told twice, closing the distance to claim his soulmate’s lips with his. Their first kiss was too short, not enough, but this is just right, their mouths moving with just enough fragility, just enough force, just enough to be _perfect_. While Qrow’s hands rummage across his chest, Captain Chaos circles an arm around his soulmate’s waist, cupping his jaw with his other hand. They don’t want to pull apart, never want to let go, but despite all of Clover’s luck, breathing is still a necessity. As he regretfully breaks the kiss, a playful tongue caresses his teeth and upper lip, drawing a small chuckle. Sighing deeply, he teasingly nips at the other man’s nose before resting their foreheads together. 

“Why did you even kiss me, the first time? I thought I was the reason for all of your suffering, and you wanted me dead.”

“But you were so nice to me. And you’re pretty.”

So that was it, all of Clover’s soulmate-related worries for so many sleepless nights, dissolved with so few words. 

“Why thank you, you’re not so bad yourself. Are you convinced I can be a good boyfriend and soulmate yet? Or do you need more evidence of my kissing skills?”

“I… uh… yeah. Please. I’d like that.”

* * *

“Somebody please help?” Ultronia waves her hands frantically in front of the green screen. “I won’t be able to record the post-credit scene if all my green clothes keep vanishing!”

“Don’t worry Penny, we’ll change the background lighting or something. The author thought it’d be funny but doesn’t have any idea how to fix it. Just go ahead.”

“Salutations, this is Ultronia here. Or Penny, whichever you prefer. I don’t mind if my secret identity is revealed since I’m a robot and I don’t have any same-name family to protect. I do have many friends, but everyone knows who my friends are under my Ultronia identity anyway. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for reading so far. In this fic Uncle Qrow only appeared halfway through, but in tomorrow’s one I promise he’ll be front and centre. That should make Uncle Clover happy. Why are you surprised? Ruby calls them that way, so I don’t understand what is strange with that. If you have any complaints or any other thoughts, please leave a comment below! Now before you complain that this post-credit scene is boring, which it is, watch me blast all my laser swords at the same time into Cinder’s face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the way I set up Clover and Qrow’s superpowers is based off of Domino, whose superpower is ‘luck’, and a villain called Desmond in the comics, who has the same problem of getting all the injuries Domino should have received and wants revenge on her as a result. Look it up if interested.  
> Honestly, I had no idea what to write for this prompt until I realised I needed Clover as Domino in my life. I’m weird, I know.  
> This was different, to say the least. Was it fun? Let me know in the comments. I have no idea what I’ll write tomorrow, so we’ll see… stay warm and posted xx


	5. One big family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Hurt/comfort  
> Today's prompt is a lot closer to what I usually write, but I noticed recently that Qrow's almost always the one who got whumped, so I wanted to switch things around a little... hope you enjoy!

It had all been perfect. 

Sunset on Patch is a treat to the eyes, for those who know of a good vantage point. Fortunately, Qrow is familiar enough with the place to know the serpentine path through the lush green forests and dark mossy caves leading to the secret cove. The clear blue sea whispers against the tall white cliffs, before spilling onto the gray pebbles at their feet, rounded pebbles, gentle pebbles, eroded by seas, winds, and time. The cove is narrow enough so that they barely have enough space to set down their picnic mat and watch the sunset from there. It’s a small picnic mat - only for Clover and Qrow, after all. 

It had been perfect. 

Clover had joked that he’d be able to fish there, with his luck. Of course, Qrow knows it’s total nonsense, the cove is too shallow and no one has ever seen a single fish anywhere near in decades. He’d have asked Tai or the kids to confirm, if they were there, but Tai was teaching for the day, and Ruby and Yang had hopped into an airship to the mainland with Maria, Pietro, and Penny, to find some spare parts for the android after they’d removed her government-tracked Atlesian navigation device. Apparently finding no other way to show off to his friend, the former Ace Op leader had picked up a small, flat pebble, fitting the palm of his hand perfectly, and tossed it into the gentle sea, watching the perfect circles rippling out of each of his twelve perfect ricochets. 

It had been perfect - until it happened. 

Qrow had been sipping on his lemonade, definitely the best thing to make when life gives you lemons, watching the translucent waves almost touch his bare feet, leaving a trail of pearly white sea foam on the rocks in their wake. He’d reached for the cookie box, only to find out that only the raisin ones were left, because for some reason Clover liked raisins - no one in their right mind would ever like raisins, right? - and Ruby had baked them especially for him following the age-old familial recipe. Instead of eating cookies, his best friend was lying on his back on the picnic mat, reading some novel that Blake had lent him, aqua eyes only occasionally lifting off the pages to stare at the rose gold sun softly shattering onto the surface of the blue water into a million of shimmering shards. 

And then it happens.

Qrow can feel it. Before it even happens. It’s a perk of his Semblance, a… tightness in his chest that tells him when something unfortunate is about to occur. He never knows exactly what… but an urge guides his movements, and right now the urge is to turn into a bird. Usually, that urge turns out to be founded, like the time he flew to Amber’s rescue… Amber. Her russet eyes glistening in the sunset, the too brief sunset that bled into night. Amber, whom he’d been too late to save… Another shattered face that came back to haunt his nightmares. Alongside all those he’d failed to rescue in time… alongside Summer…

His hands are shaking, his heart is shaking, the world is shaking and he needs to breathe he needs a drink he really needs a drink. He’s been sober for months now, but that doesn’t stop him from automatically reaching for the water bottle and gulping all of it down his face, spilling and sputtering a large fraction onto his face and shirt. The water’s cold, reminding him of here, of now, of the calm, the perfect sunset, reminding him to leave his scars of the past in the past. It’s going to be okay. He can breathe. He can do this.

Except it already happened. 

Qrow knows deep down something’s wrong, and when he turns around Clover lay motionless by his side with his eyes closed, his book dropped out of his hand and fallen onto his muscular chest. No, this can’t be happening… not again… To the unfamiliar eye, he could have seemed asleep, drifting along some pleasant dreams based on his readings. But Qrow knows this man too well, this man he’d fought alongside, this man he’d learnt to trust, to love… and he knows something’s amiss. Clover’s palm is too cold to the touch, his pulse too weak though still existent. He checks his Scroll, which only confirms the feeling churning in his gut that the Atlesian’s Aura is completely depleted. Not just that, but he’s gone into full Aura shock, and Qrow has no idea how that could even have happened while they were just relaxing on the beach. 

All he knows is that when Aura runs low, it’s just a matter of probability at what moment it trickles out completely, just like it’s just a matter of probability at what moment the last water droplet falls from a closed tap. A matter of probability, and bad luck. 

* * *

Sitting by the window, Taiyang checks his Scroll for the thirteenth time since sunset. 

Ruby has written once. Their airship had a malfunction but they all landed safely, just on the wrong side of the island, and it would be a couple of hours before they trekked all the way back home. 

Qrow hasn’t written back. 

He was just supposed to have gone for a picnic with that _colleague_ who looks at him like he’s never seen anything so delicious. A friend from work. Right. Of course. Qrow may not be very perceptive about social cues due to his tribal upbringing, but Tai can call out bullshit when he sees it. Not that he has any problem with it, and Clover has been nothing but supportive to his brother-in-law since they got to Patch. 

Except that Qrow hasn’t written back. 

Of course he knows of his former teammate’s Semblance, but especially with the former Ace Op’s luck to counterbalance it, he didn’t think it would mess up a picnic date - nope, not a date, definitely not a date, Qrow had insisted while the girls pushed the food baskets into his hands - to the point where the shapeshifter wouldn’t even be able to answer his messages. Unless, on the contrary, it’d been going too well, and the two of them were too busy merrily frolicking into the sunset to bother checking their Scrolls... 

And then the door opens. 

Or rather, it slowly swivels ajar with a slight squeak, as Qrow quietly tries to step inside on tiptoes not to wake the sleeping kids. 

“Have you seen Yang and… by the brothers…what happened?”

Only when the scythe-wielder entirely steps through the door does Tai see the limp body of the former soldier slung across Qrow’s shoulder. 

“Do you need any help carrying him upstairs?”

“No, thanks.”

Qrow only walks back down the steps to drop the picnic baskets into the kitchen, and at that point Tai realises he completely forgot to tell his brother-in-law there was still ice cream in the freezer. 

* * *

“Tea?”

Qrow can tell without turning around that Tai just entered the room carrying a wooden tray with a teapot full of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey, a blue teapot with white hearts on it. Alongside three assorted teacups.

“You already made tea anyway, so I might as well before it goes cold.”

As the cups click against the tray, signalling Tai’s advance toward Qrow, the shapeshifter doesn’t move in his chair, eyes resolutely riveted on Clover’s still unconscious silhouette, whom he tucked into bed too long minutes ago.

“You sound like tea would be good for your throat,” Taiyang concurs, drawing another chair to sit next to Qrow. 

“Why thank you. You sound great too.”

It turns out the tea is indeed good for his throat, warming him from the inside, the sweet flowery tinge of honey soothing his parched mouth. His hands are wrapped around the warm porcelain cup, yet his heart still feels cold, and his lips tremble ever so slightly when he eventually speaks. 

“No, Tai. I didn’t see the kids on my way back. I thought they should’ve been back already.”

“They encountered some technical issue with their ride, nothing too serious from what I heard. They had to land somewhere in the south of Patch and walk home.”

“Oh. So nothing to worry about. Your girls are strong enough to fend off a few Ursas if needed, and it’s not like they don’t have the Grimm Reaper and the Protector of Mantle with them or anything.”

Of course there’s no rational reason to worry. Just an evening trek through their home island. But after so many months of adventuring on the road, of battles, of betrayals, Qrow isn’t sure what it means not to worry any more. He’s not sure Taiyang knows either, after so many times he’d been left behind, and so few times those who left did come back home.

“Wanna hear something nice?” the blonde interrupts his dark thoughts, sipping from his own cup.

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Tai always feels like he needs to fill the silence, and while that had been headache-inducing together with Summer’s chatter in the dorms back in their STRQ days, now it sounds nice. After all, anything’s better than the silence, the silence that reminds him of secrets, of unspoken lies, that lets his mind wander back to less fortunate times...

“On top of the cookies for you guys, Ruby and Yang also baked us a cake for lunch, before they left for the mainland. Blake made sushi, it was delicious. So of course, Weiss didn’t want to feel left out, so she used Myrtenaster to make some ice cream.”

“Most creative weapon use I’ve heard of in a while.”

“But the girls had some trouble with quantities, so now the freezer is full of ice cream: we have vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, mint from the garden-”

“Anything less boring?”

“I told them to make some pistachio for you...”

“You’ve finally caught onto my tastes, after all these years.”

“You’re very picky, Qrow. And also… the stuff with raisins for...”

Of course Weiss would’ve made something for Uncle Clover, just like Ruby and Yang made the raisin cookies and Blake gave him a book. He was part of the family, now. Or whatever fire-forged, dysfunctional family they had all become. After getting to warmer Patch, Weiss and Clover had bonded over their memories of Atlas, memories of watching the northern lights through the window at night, of frosted Atlesian pastries, of safaris to watch penguins on the tundra because everything’s better with penguins. They’d bonded while training, recounting those days where they’d train each day to perfect themselves, to prove themselves, to get out of the shadow of a family legacy or a Semblance. Now they only train and spar so they can be their best selves, protect their ‘family’, and nothing else matters more. 

So of course, Weiss would’ve made raisin ice cream, out of all things, for the former Ace Op. Who couldn’t enjoy it because he was currently comatose in bed for whoever knows what reasons.

“Tai, I… I don’t know what happened! I don’t know what happened to him, how he ended up in this state, or how to help him get better!”

“Deep breaths, Qrow, deep breaths. I’m sure you did the right thing. His Aura will regenerate, if he rests and stays warm. Did he get any concussions? Heat strokes? Hydrocution by falling into the water? Did he get poisoned by jellyfish? Does he have food allergies? Epilepsy?”

If only Tai knew the reason Clover was even alive right now, how he’d been brought back to life using ancient magic, he’d come up with even more creative explanations. Not that Qrow would be able to tell whether they were correct.

“No… he was just reading, and then… I found him like this.”

“He just flopped down? Swooned straight into your arms?”

“No… I don’t know. I had an... inkling from my Semblance, and I freaked out, and I started having those damn flashbacks again. When I was finally done calming my stupid little bout of PTSD, he was unconscious, and I don’t know what happened. If I weren’t so weak and pathetic I’d have known what happened to him.”

The blonde’s expression changes at that, Qrow would’ve sworn Tai just burnt the tip of his tongue with his tea. Not exactly surprising, his misfortune tends to do that to people. 

“Is he pregnant?” Taiyang asks distractedly.

Now it’s Qrow’s turn to scald himself with hot tea, and karma tastes as sweet as chamomile and honey.

“Tai, it’s not because you tried real hard to impregnate all of your teammates that you must assume everyone else wants to do the same.”

“I don’t know, I assume nothing.”

“You sound upset.”

“I don’t.”

“Look Tai, I’ve known you for long enough. Tell me what upset you in what I said.”

“Your _inkling_. What did it tell you to do?”

“Turn into a bird. I don’t know why. I don’t know what for. Because the last times it happened...”

The last times it happened, he flew… he flew straight ahead, without thinking, without feeling anything but the cold sky whipping his wings… and when he landed, he was too late. Amber was drained of her powers, scarred, comatose. And Summer… there had been even less to salvage, to bring home to her family. 

“What about that time it happened?! We were in the teachers’ room, and the next second you turned into a bird, and when you returned you had the girls with you, unharmed because you just saved them from a whole pack of Grimm! And then you just left again, for gods know what secret mission. Your bad feelings about things are usually correct, Qrow, I just wish you and Raven would understand that they can’t supplant being there for your family. You don’t realise how easy it is for you two, compared to everyone else. You don’t need to be there for your loved ones, because you just have a bad feeling whenever something’s about to happen to them, and then you just turn into a bird, or just make a portal if you’re Raven, swoop in to save them, and then leave again! Parenting and relationships isn’t just about that… it’s hard, it’s messy, and you have no idea how powerless I feel sometimes, when you and Raven pull stunts like that, and I… all I can do is wait and hope you’ll be there when the ones I care about get into trouble!”

“That’s why you’re a good dad. Because you’re always there for them, you’re always there when you can. The fact that Raven and I have Semblances and bird forms that let us know when a loved one is in trouble does nothing to diminish how great you are as a parent. We just help when we can, or at least that’s what I try to do. And it took me a hell of a lot of time to learn that, with the kids’ help, with Clover’s help, with your help, but I won’t leave afterwards any more. I won’t run away as soon as I see everyone’s safe any more. I promise, Tai.”

“Thanks, Qrow. It means so much to me. And thanks for bearing with me while I vented out my frustration. It’s been so many years I’ve been thinking about this, but I’m glad I finally told you and we’re finally starting to work that out.”

“Well, good luck with telling Raven next time,” Qrow snorts, and he’d have winked if that didn’t remind him of Clover, who still lay lifeless before his eyes.

“Back on topic, can we talk about that bad feeling you had? Or do you need a little more time?”

Qrow takes a deep breath. A long sip of his cooling drink. Another deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

“Nah, now’s fine.”

“I thought your Semblance could have warned you that Clover would have a heart attack or something. But then it doesn’t make sense that you’d have had the strong urge to turn into a bird. You wouldn’t have been any more able to help him in bird form. And usually when you feel like morphing, there must be a reason.”

“So what was the reason, Sherlock?”

“Something far away. Something bad, happening to someone you’d need to fly to. Do you have any idea where or whom?”

Qrow had grown fond of hearing Tai talking about his misfortune, in a neutral, interested way without all the dark connotations that the shapeshifter associates with it. While Tai’s laid-back, analytical side often makes people dismiss him as a nerdy, dorky teacher, the former tribeman knows it can be incredibly useful in situations like this.

“Nope. Ruby and Yang’s airship had some kinda bug, but nothing really bad happened to them, so it can’t be them…”

Raven, whatever she may be up to? Oscar, whom they’d last seen in Atlas, or Ozpin if he was still somewhere in the farm boy’s mind? James, who was still such a wreck when they’d left for Patch that it had pained Qrow to leave him behind? Jaune, Nora, or Ren, with whom they’d parted ways when the kids jumped on their airship to Argus?

“So do you think Clover had the same inkling as you did? His Semblance is similar to yours, only his manifests more when he feels in control, and yours turns up when you’re worried about things out of your control.”

“So what? You think that bad feeling is what made him faint? You may be on the right track, but there’s more to it. We’ve fought together countless times, he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever fought alongside. Always positive, always pushing forward, never showing fatigue, no matter what. I don’t think just a bad intuition can make him collapse. Really, watching him fight is fascinating, he can take on a whole horde of Megoliath by himself, and then brush the dust off his muscles and smile and wave and make corny luck jokes as if nothing happened...”

“Qrow, you’re gushing.”

“Am not.”

“I’ve known you too long. I know you have a crush. And I can’t believe you’ve still not made a move on this guy, especially how painstakingly obviously he’s flirting with you.”

“That obvious?”

“I think even Penny caught onto it by now.”

“Well, we were at war, and he got injured, and I thought he was dead… there was no time to make a move.”

“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me.”

Because Clover actually died and was brought back to life with the Staff of Creation by James, after which the kids stole the relic from Atlas and disguised it as… yeah, it’d be better if Tai didn’t know, if most people didn’t know, for their own safety.

“Well… there was that one time we kissed after we defeated Tyrian...”

“So what are you waiting for now? You’ve given Salem a run for her money when you wrecked that whale, we’re not exactly in times of war any more. When he wakes up, tell him you were worried for him when he fainted, tell him you don’t want to lose him again, and ask him how he feels about that kiss. Chances are that he’ll tell you how he feels about you, and you’ll have a new boyfriend.”

“... right. I forgot you were always so smooth with relationships.”

“I did manage to get both of our female teammates knocked up.”

As both men chuckle awkwardly, they become aware of a rasp at the door.

“Yang, I know you’re out there,” her father says. “Come in, and I promise we’ll stop talking about how I got your mother pregnant.”

When the young huntress peaks through the door, she’s wearing pyjamas, and more importantly, she has Zwei cradled between her arms. 

“Can’t sleep?” Qrow prompts, and can tell exactly why from her downcast nod. 

He can’t blame her for being afraid of the nightmares if she goes to sleep. Because no matter if it’s all over now, if she’s defeated Adam and he’ll never come back, if they’ve one-shot Salem by taking out the Staff and dropping the flying city onto the giant whale… the nightmares are still there, and when you wake up from them you can’t tell disentangle dream from reality, and it takes a few minutes of pondering to piece together what’s not real and what is.

“You look like you need a hug,” Tai observes.

And that is exactly why he’s an awesome parent, Qrow thinks. Yang immediately melts into her dad’s warm embrace, and her wayward metal arm loses no time to wrap around Qrow’s waist and also pull him into the hug. Of course, the puppy at the centre of all of the attention isn’t too upset about this, judging by his wagging cotton tail and his stuck out tongue. Before Zwei can salivate on all of them, Tai takes him into his lap, while Qrow pours a cup of tea and hands it to his niece. 

“Thanks, uncle Qrow. I heard you from the door… will uncle Clover be okay?”

“I hope so,” Tai answers, not batting an eye at the former Ace Op’s inclusion into the family. “It seems like he just over-exerted his Aura.”

“Doing what?”

Her nervous fingers fiddle with a lock of blonde hair and caress her earlobe, where her tiny gold and blue earring sits… Qrow prays for Tai, and everyone by extension, to think that it’s just that… a new, shiny earring.

“We don’t know yet, firecracker,” Qrow says.

“How was your day trip then? Not too difficult?” Tai worries.

“The shopping spree itself was fruitful, Pietro is pretty confident he can work with what we’ve got. And the walk home itself was uneventful. But the airship ride… Well, when we were flying back… one of the engines failed, and we thought we were going to crash. Penny could have lived, maybe, but… we were too high up, and there was only the sea below us, no land in sight… We were thinking, after all we’ve been through, all we’ve faced, all we’ve survived… a plane crash would be such a stupid, lame way to die, right? Maria said we got really lucky that some random breeze carried us safely all the way to the shore… uncle Qrow? Everything okay?”

Suddenly it all clicks into place, like a dark veil is lifted and everything is too clear and too bright and too loud and wow… just wow.

“Do you think... that could be Clover’s doing?” the scythe-wielder stutters. “Could your miraculously good luck with landing the plane have been the work of... his Semblance?”

“You think he over-extended his good fortune to the point where he could prevent an airship crash on the other side of the island?” Yang understands. “Is it even possible to project one’s Semblance on such long distances?”

“Depends on the nature of his Semblance, but if his is anything like yours, Qrow, it’s rather spatially localised by default,” Tai clarifies. “So if that’s really what Clover did, no wonder the strain made him pass out. Honestly, it could’ve killed him for all we know. It’s really impressive that he managed at all. Still, I’m surprised Clover felt close enough to you guys on the plane to sense your changing luck in the first place, and then to essentially put his life on the line to save you all.”

“We’re all one big family,” his daughter speaks quickly before her meaning dawns on all three of them.

“So now I have no choice but to welcome him with open arms into the family as Qrow’s boyfriend because he saved my daughters’ lives. Why do I never get my say on things in this family?” Tai pouts, crossing his arms while staring at his child and her uncle.

“If you don’t want uncle Cloves in the family, why did I walk in on you telling Qrow how to court him just now?”

“I was just giving friendly advice!” Tai retorts a bit too loudly, and they all look around as if to verify if they didn’t wake any of the sleepers. 

Sure, Weiss and Blake were already in their respective guest bedrooms when Qrow and Clover had returned, and Ruby and the rest of the airship crew went to bed shortly after their return. But it wasn’t like they’d wake Clover right next to them any time soon. 

“Right, Yang,” her father continues in a lower tone. “You’ve had a long day, you should try and get some sleep. I should do that too, Clover probably won’t want to have too many grumpy sleep-deprived people in his face when he wakes up”.

If he wakes at all, the lingering question still hangs in the nervous air. 

* * *

_Firecracker: still blaming yourself uncle qrow?_

_UncleQrow: go to sleep kiddo_

_Firecracker: it’s not your fault_

_You should go to bed too_

_Whatever happens, we’re all in this for you as a BIG family_

_UncleQrow: whatever happens?_

_You mean whether he gets better?_

_Or whether he rejects me when he wakes up and I confess my feelings in the most awkward way?_

_Both?_

_K goodnight yang_

_Sweet dreams_

One of Qrow’s hands rubs lazy circles against Zwei’s head, the pup happily asleep on his lap. His other hand fidgets with his Scroll, watching Clover’s Aura levels regenerating slowly, too slowly. 

Yawning, he tugs the device into his pocket and picks up Clover’s hand, still unresponsive in his grip. His palm feels ever so slightly warmer now, the skin surprisingly soft under the shapeshifter’s calloused digits. Caressing up the man’s wrist to check his pulse, Qrow notices how pallid his skin looks, the silvery moonlight filtering through the window making his veins appear more salient. Clover looks so tired, his partner’s heart constricting in his throat at that very thought. They’ve all been through so much, had to push through so much without time to reflect on the little details, or to process what they really felt. Now the battle was over, and they’d all gone home to lick their wounds, preparing for the next journey, the next war, the next adventure. Team RWBY and Qrow had travelled back to Patch bringing Clover, Penny, Pietro, and Maria with them, while Jaune, Nora, and Ren visited their leader’s sister in Argus, with Marrow tagging along for the ride. 

Qrow thought they’d be safe here. That they’d be happy, even, maybe. That it could be perfect, if even for an instant. And for a fraction of a second, it was. And maybe that was enough. Maybe that’s all that fortune and misfortune would ever let them have. Maybe all Qrow could do is being not sorry, but grateful for that instant, grateful for Clover saving his nieces, grateful for his big dysfunctional family. And what a dysfunctional family it was, with everyone scarred to the core by old and recent wounds. 

But their cracks only brought them closer, and Qrow should be grateful for that too. 

Or so he thinks, depositing a soft kiss on Clover’s knuckles before wishing him good night. 

* * *

Clover has hardly ever felt so terrible waking up. And considering he came back from the dead less than a month ago, that’s saying something. His ears are ringing with a faint buzz, his throat is parched, his mouth pasty. And he can’t even open his eyes, even through the hazy redness of his eyelids the morning sun is way too bright. He considers rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.

Except that to his practised nostrils wafts the delectable smell of waffles. 

It takes him multiple tries to get out of bed without falling over - and waking up everyone in the process - or tripping in his bedsheets. He does trip onto the chairs just next to his bed - seriously, terrible place to put chairs, whoever did this - and discovers a note on one of the seats: ‘ _Hi Uncle Cloves, glad you’re awake!!! Uncle Qrow totally fell asleep on this chair holding your hand last night, but I carried him to his bed so he won’t complain about back pains all day tomorrow. Thank me later! XOXO Yang._ ’

So Yang was back… they did make it home safely. He didn’t almost die doing seriously unadvised Semblance tricks for nothing. Good to know. He takes a deep breath, then another one, realising he’d forgotten how good that felt. 

And since he was tucked into bed still wearing picnic clothes borrowed from Tai, that means he can head down straight to the kitchen. 

“You’re awake, young man? Heard you caused quite a ruckus last night.”

“Good morning to you too, Maria. Need any help with the waffles?”

“You do agree that waffles go well with ice cream, right?” she ponders, stirring the dough before pouring it into the waffle iron. “Because there’s so much leftover ice cream in the freezer right now...”

“Waffles go well with everything, but then I do like everything so I’m not the best at culinary advice. You should ask Qrow, he’s got much more refined tastes.”

“And good looks, and a nice voice, and a wonderful personality, and a cool fighting style, and an awesome weapon?”

“Ahem.” 

“What, do you think I’m blind? Well I kind of am, but I’m _not that blind_ ,” Maria says, each word punctuated with a small tap to her ocular prosthetics. “You think I haven’t noticed the way the two of you look at each other? By the way, I’m not deaf either, I can hear you doing the dishes over there. You should be resting after a complete Aura shock like that, not standing up and doing chores.”

“It helps me stay awake,” he shrugs, lining the plates in apple pie order on the dedicated rack. “Feels like I’ve been asleep for the last twenty hours.”

“Sounds about right. So how did you do that, anyway?”

“Despite physical distance, emotional proximity with people helps my Semblance warn me that something’s going to happen to them.”

“I know that part, young man. My Semblance works essentially the same.”

As if on cue, a frying pan dangling over the counter drops, and she catches it without looking. 

“But how did you know you could alter probabilities on such a large scale, without it killing you? How could you make sure it was gonna work? I’ve seen many Semblance tricks in my life, but I have to say I’m intrigued by this one.”

“Well, aha, funny story.”

“You’ve already pulled this off in the past, and lived to tell the tale?” Maria ventures. 

“Maybe…?”

“So do tell the tale,” she requests, sliding a plate in his direction with a still burning hot waffle and fresh strawberries on top. 

“You know how I got banned from almost all the casinos in Mantle and Atlas? This was when I was much younger, an Academy cadet, overconfident with my Semblance, and kind of a brat.”

“You still kind of are, but I may have overheard that Qrow likes brats anyways so you’re not in trouble.”

“I was in this casino with a man I was trying really hard to impress. I’d barely met him that night, and he was older than me, really not fitting well in the Mantle scene, which only added to his tall dark mysterious stranger vibe. Anyway, I think I made quite an impression on him when I made him win essentially everything the place ever owned, a win that would’ve gone down in the history of Mantle. I’d just unlocked my Semblance a couple of years ago at that point, I went a little overboard unintentionally. So you can imagine I was pretty happy with myself at that point. Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital three days later, and the guy hasn’t even written back.”

“I’m guessing he must have been suitably impressed with you passing out on him so he’d have to carry you all the way to the nearest hospital.”

“He did call me back later, when I went back to the Academy. And I think I made a decent impression overall.”

“How could you tell?”

“Because that, dear Maria, is the story of how I met James Ironwood.”

For all her preflexes, she drops the ladle entirely into the giant dough bowl, staring at him in shock before turning to the doorway. Following the gaze of her mechanical eyes, Clover swivels around to find Qrow leaning against the doorsill, gaping like a fish out of water with a coffee mug in his oblivious hand. 

“By the gods, Qrow, are you okay? I’m so sorry I worried you and you had to carry me all the way back from the beach...”

The sound of a coffee cup being set down on the kitchen table is the only warning Clover receives before finding himself wrapped in a firm bear hug. Qrow is so much stronger than he looks, and it takes the former operative a few seconds to regain his breath and his balance in the huntsman’s iron grip before staring down into mesmerising vermillion eyes. A wave of dizziness washes through Clover’s mind, but slender, lithe arms keep him standing, like an anchor, like a lifeline. 

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Qrow murmurs, nuzzling into the taller man’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have been able to lose you again so soon.”

“Good thing I’m hard to kill off, then.” 

“I was worried sick -”

“I know. Yang told me. Don’t worry. It’s all over now. I’m here.”

And without thinking, he bends down to press his lips against the top of Qrow’s head, eliciting a soft surprised gasp. 

“The elderly still aren’t blind, or deaf, you know,” Maria groans in the background, carefully sorting through a dozen jam pots. “No PDA in my kitchen!”

Technically, it’s Tai’s kitchen, but still… oh, dear gods, this is absolutely embarrassing, and Clover can feel the raging blush creeping along the nape of his neck. From the corner of his confused vision, he’s certain he sees the Grimm Reaper winking at Qrow - can her goggles even do that? - which seems to boost the shapeshifter’s confidence. The soldier’s knees start to wobble beneath him, and relief floods his senses when Qrow drags him outside the kitchen, allowing him to plop down onto the sofa amidst the empty living room. 

“I should punish you for worrying me,” Qrow smirks as he loses no time climbing into the Ace Op’s lap. “So you can’t have your waffle, or your strawberries, or that ridiculous raisin ice cream of yours...”

Clover already bemoans having left his plate on the counter next to Maria, waffles being the sole reason why he got out of bed, and that ice cream sounds heavenly, but at least he can console himself with the sight of the most handsome man in Remnant looking down at him with teasing bedroom eyes. 

“... unless you kiss me for real, like you mean it this time. Sounds fair to you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints at Tai’s Semblance, if you squint. What do you think that is? Let me know in the comments. Also, yes, Yang totally wears the relic as an earring, because they change size, and why not, it looks cool, and if someone made the relics as earrings I’d probably buy them.  
> Clover's love of raisins is not my idea, I borrowed from [SoulStealer1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulStealer1987/pseuds/SoulStealer1987)  
> I realised tomorrow is Saturday and when I said I'd update the last chapter of REAPER IV, and I'm Not Ready For This, and I'm also absolutely not ready for tomorrow's prompt. Let's see... fingers crossed!  
> Stay safe and cya tomorrow xx


	6. New toys, old score

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Atlas Ball/Mantle Battle
> 
> this is one of those where I'm still doing both prompts and the combination is slightly unusual... hope you enjoy!  
> it also comes earlier in the same timeline as the story for Day 5, ie that one where they use the staff to crash Atlas into the whale
> 
> Warnings: canon-typical violence, mention of trauma, Tyrian Callows (totally gets his own warning)

Throwing a lavish Atlas Ball in such circumstances, in Qrow’s opinion, essentially amounts to taking a broken, beaten down table and tossing the most expensive, elegant, colourful tablecloth on top hoping people won’t notice. 

The giant whale had been killed when Penny took out the Staff of Creation, all but dropping the city of Atlas on the monstrous Grimm’s back. Salem’s forces dwindled considerably following the operation, and the mistress of the creatures of darkness herself was nowhere to be seen. The following days had been a blur of the Happy Huntresses and the Ace Ops, or at least the surviving ones, leading the last wave of sorties to clear out the remaining Grimm in Mantle, while James, Pietro, and Penny did their best using the Staff to lower whatever was left of Atlas to the ground without causing too much damage.

The main idea behind the ball had been celebrating a victory, no matter how small, and lifting the population’s minds so that dark thoughts would stop attracting the Grimm, no matter how fleetingly. Not that Qrow disagrees. Or that he cares, for that matter. 

The battle may be over, but the war still rages in his mind. The war still rages in his hunger-crazed, sleep-deprived mind, and he won’t rest until he follows the footsteps till the end, and exacts his vengeance. Until he avenges the man he liked, had started to learn to love, the man that greater forces kept from trusting him back. So he follows the footsteps, red eyes trailing the pale trails in the silvery frost, leading outside the breach on Mantle’s wall. He follows the footsteps, soot-black wings outstretched in the cold Solitas sky. 

His practised bird’s eyes recognise fresh footsteps in the crestfallen snow, and he glides around the wall’s corner, gaze locking to his target. With a faint ruffle of feathers, he morphs back to his human form as soon as his feet touch the floor, his tattered cape floating in the icy wind. 

“Tyrian,” he greets like a curse under his breath. 

The serial killer, reclined as if in meditation against the ruins of the wall, barely cracks an eyelid open at the mention of his name. Around him, as if awaiting for his command to attack, a dozen Sabyrs pace, hissing and growling. Qrow draws a hand to his weapon, ready to transform it into its scythe form and mow down the Grimm, but the creatures don’t seem drawn to him, as if only invested in whatever negative emotions may live in the crazed mind of Salem’s most unhinged servant. 

“Finally,” Tyrian drawls, “I thought you’d never come.”

“I had Mantle to defend. But now it’s in good hands with Robyn and her team.”

“I see, too busy being a good Huntsman… then why don’t you help me out with these lowly creatures?”

The criminal tilts his head - and the Sabyrs attack. With a wary shrug, Qrow’s scythe traces an arc, splitting a first monster through the waist. Spins to slice a fang, swings to deflect a paw, slams down to impale a creature to the ground. With his free hand, he punches a feline Grimm without even looking, pushing it back for long enough to switch his weapon into its gun form and shoot it squarely between its vile jaws. The cogs of Harbinger whir as it transforms, and its wielder moves just as precisely, like well-oiled clockwork, methodically, automatically. This isn’t the fight he’s come to pick, and after weeks of fighting Grimm and protecting Mantle, he’s too tired for the little games now. With the butt of his weapon, he pushes a creature back toward Tyrian’s stinger, the monster vanishing with a puff of soot as soon as the steel prosthetic pierces its heart. 

“You’re too much of a coward to face me one on one?” the Huntsman spits at the Faunus, while taking mindless potshots at the surrounding dark creatures.

“It’s been months we’ve been wanting to settle this score, who can blame me for spicing things up a little? Don’t we all want a good show?”

Rather than replying the rhetorical question, Qrow lunges straight at his enemy, who narrowly sidesteps his thrusting sword. The shapeshifter hears both of his enemy’s wrist blades singing through the air behind his back, and swaps his grip on Harbinger to block. With an elated smirk, Tyrian springs into a handstand atop the flat of the huntsman’s blade, spins around with a playful sputter of bullets, before pouncing off to land on the back of a running Sabyr. Blocking the rounds from Qrow’s shotgun with his tail, he rodeos the Grimm into turning around and charging at his opponent. 

Narrowing his eyes, the huntsman throws his blade in a spinning motion, cleanly cleaving the monster into two symmetrical halves while Tyrian precipitately jumps off and rolls to the side on the snowy ground. As Salem’s henchman props himself back to his feet, Qrow attacks again, racing toward his sword, impaled into the ground, and wrapping both hands around the handle to heave both his feet into the serial killer’s stomach, making him lose his balance. 

While the shifter revolves acrobatically in mid-air, carefully remaining out of reach from the deadly stinger, his fingers flip a switch by the side of Harbinger, transforming it back into its scythe form. When the transformation ends, both opponents end up perched on the oblique handle of the polearm weapon, ignoring the Grimm circling around them in the snow. Qrow’s feet find their footing with the nimble ability of a bird on its perch as he rears his fist to punch his enemy - who barely dodges. Carried away by his own momentum, the former tribeman tumbles off the edge of his scythe shaft and onto the frozen ground. Above him, he sees Tyrian dangling upside down, metal tail wrapped around the pole of Harbinger while he waves and cackles madly. 

Grunting with rage, the huntsman retracts the pole arm's length, raising his blade like a tonfa to deflect, evade, strike again, and again, and again, their blades clashing endlessly without managing to wipe that sadistic smirk off his enemy’s lips. Is this what vengeance feels like? He wonders, dodging on the left before swiping at Tyrian’s legs from the right. He’s never been this much in control in his previous encounters with Tyrian. After weeks of fighting for Mantle alongside Robyn and her huntresses, he’d finally gotten the hang of fighting sober, finally started to move past the pains and aches of his withdrawal. His hands move with newfound precision as he brings his tonfa around full circle before him, blocking a flurry of bullets and slicing one down its midsection, igniting fiery sparks into Tyrian’s face. Seizing the occasion, Qrow tips his blade to reveal the barrel of his shotgun and aims straight for his temporarily blinded enemy’s forehead, chipping away part of his Aura. 

As the Faunus backflips away to avoid Qrow’s bullets, the huntsman has to swivel around to stab an incoming Grimm through the throat. He’s never been so tired when fighting Tyrian before, after weeks of dragging his feet through the streets of Mantle, through countless hordes of Grimm. He’s been ignoring his exhaustion, the aches in his muscles and bones, repressing his emotions to stay focused, always mindlessly pushing forward. Pushing forward, only fueled by his desire for vengeance, by his thirst for Tyrian’s blood supplanting his crave for alcohol. He wonders what he’ll feel, now that he has his vengeance within arm’s reach, when he runs his blade through his enemy’s body… would that cure his mind of his crazed bloodlust? Or would he fall from exhaustion, fall into the snow, with no more desire to get back up, to move forward? What would Clover think of him, if he found Qrow in such a mindset?

It’s a dirty move, Qrow would’ve thought if he weren’t so tired. As he withdraws his blade from the body of a quickly evaporating monster, an impact of boots into his back knocks him down to his knees, before a steel stinger firmly wraps around his chest, constricting his airways and restraining his shoulders and arms. He can’t breathe, and he’s too tired to make sense of what he sees… 

A flash of glowering magenta.

And then, the whisper of a wrist blade, slashing at his throat. 

In the distance, far away, too far away, a single word.

“Wait!”

Of course Qrow wouldn’t do anything as stupid as wait. Or hope for that distraction to rescue him, for that matter. He’s a trained huntsman, even when exhausted, and he simply turns into a bird and flies away before the Faunus can tear his throat open. Only when he lands in the snow, in his human form with his weapon in his hands, does he realise who had spoken…

“Clover? Weren’t you dead?”

Is he for real? Is this a hallucination from his sleep-deprived mind? Is this some ploy, some decoy from Salem, from Ironwood, from anyone who wants Qrow’s head? How could Clover have been standing there, breathtaking teal eyes glistening in the sunset, standing tall and proud as if nothing happened, as if blood didn’t still stain the front of his torn uniform?

“I was, before James used the Staff to bring me back,” he explains with that lopsided smile Qrow used to find adorable, running a hand through his hair. 

“But why?” Tyrian asks, waving his hands dramatically. “Just so he can make the same mistake again and send one of you to arrest the two of us? Didn’t he learn from last time that it wasn’t enough?”

“Not to show off, but I’ve got some new tricks up my sleeve,” Clover declares. 

“But he doesn’t even _have_ sleeves,” the criminal complains to Qrow, while the Ace Op twirls an unfamiliar golden weapon - a spear? - before pointing the tip straight toward the Faunus, releasing a burst of energy sufficient to send him flying a dozen feet back, even melting the snow at his feet. 

“The Staff of Creation,” the shapeshifter breathes in recognition of the weapon resting in his former partner’s muscular arm, the crystalline blue tip shining with the same eerie glow Jinn’s lamp did.

The operative doesn’t move at those words, sculptural shoulders still squared as his eyes seem to examine Qrow’s expression without aggression, almost melancholically. While taken off guard, the huntsman is soon brought back to reality by the sound of Tyrian using his tail to scramble back to his feet.

“As much as you want to show us your new toys, Clover, you’ve just walked onto the battle of the century, the third round between the legendary Qrow Branwen and yours truly. And I-”

No, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening again… before Salem’s servant has time to say more, Qrow charges toward him with all his strength, slashing down vertically and forcing Tyrian to bend backward like a contortionist and block with crossed wrist blades. Sparks fly at the collision between their weapons as both of them try to maneuver the points of contact to their advantage, before the Faunus spins around to kick Qrow backward. Tyrian presses forward to use his advantage, but trips over Clover’s staff, cutting his attack short. 

“What now, Qrow? Letting your knight in shining armour save you, and rob you from your vengeance? Shall I call Ruby so she can help rescue you too?”

Ruby… her silver eyes reflecting the gray skies of Oniyuri as she failed to see the wooden beam falling toward her… as she failed to see her uncle’s Semblance at play… then there was a flash of purple, and blood on Qrow’s palm...

“Clover, step aside! I don’t want to lose you again.”

As he struggles to control his shaking hands, trembling under the weight of the memories, the rage, the bloodlust, Qrow can guess from the corner of his vision that the Atlesian takes a step back - giving him a clear opening to attack Tyrian.

So he attacks. 

Again, and again, and again. 

Deflecting boots, blocking wrist blades, dancing stinger are but temporary obstacles in his course to drive Harbinger through his enemy’s heart. He cuts, thrusts, cuts again, barely inconvenienced when a wayward tail wraps around his wrist to wrench Harbinger from his grasp. Shapeshifting with a loud caw, he immediately soars toward the skies, transforming back a dozen feet above ground to fall onto his opponent with all his weight and an Aura-amplified punch that shatters the ground around them. He can feel his Aura trickling away, and the throbbing pain from his unsteady landing pulsing from his ankle - but it doesn’t matter now, because Tyrian’s pinned beneath him, and he only has to rear his ringed fist and pummel his enemy into the ground, again, and again. 

It’s funny, that sound of metal meeting flesh. Or at least, the Faunus appears to think so, for he chuckles heartily between collisions between Qrow’s fist and his cheekbone. The huntsman’s mind is too clouded by exhaustion and fury to understand what’s so humorous about the situation… or to detect, above the loudness of his punches and Tyrian’s laughs, the faint metallic clicking of a metal stinger slithering toward the base of his neck…

“Qrow,” Clover warns.

Everything was too fast, and now it’s too slow. The shapeshifter turns toward the Ace Op, standing as still as a statue, before seeing the treacherous prosthetic and rolling over to dodge. As soon as Qrow tumbles to the snow next to his arch-nemesis, he feels his Aura shattering into a myriad of sparks. He’s not too surprised to see Tyrian’s own Aura break, leaving a swirl of purple particles in its wake. 

“Got your show yet?” the former tribeman spits, turning to face his enemy while still lying on the ground. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Tyrian nods toward Clover with a devilish grin. “He must be so entertained by watching you getting your ass kicked from the sidelines. What are you trying to prove to him? To yourself? To me? That you’re strong enough to protect him? That you can defeat me alone? I’d have killed you in Oniyuri if that little silver-eyed bitch didn’t spoil the fun!”

… blood on Qrow’s palm… too red… too much red… too much purple… the sky’s grey, but the clouds aren’t silver-lined… 

...unlike her eyes…

Tyrian’s eyes are boring through Qrow right now, and they’re as violet as his venom. And Qrow knows he’s losing his mind - but apparently Clover’s learnt his lesson from last time, because he’s still standing immobile, refusing to intervene. Clover may as well still be an illusion, so perfect, perfectly still, the russet sunlight reflecting off the hard planes of his chiselled shoulders. Qrow may as well be losing his mind… but he can’t lose more, can’t lose anyone again…

When Qrow finally answers, his words come in heavy pants, punctuating the tense silence.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone I hold dear. Never again. Not Clover, not Ruby… This is why I’m fighting. As a Huntsman, to protect them. Not to prove I can do it alone, because guess what? I. Have nothing. To prove. To you.”

There’s a rustle of footsteps behind him, and the tip of the Staff of Creation nudging Harbinger toward him in the snow. Qrow blinks, and printed behind the red screen of his eyelids, he sees it again - his blade in the snow, covered with Clover’s fresh blood. Qrow blinks again. His hands are shaking, but he can do this. He grabs the hilt of Harbinger, so hard that his knuckles are blanching, but at least his fingers aren’t trembling now, and that’s all that matters.

He supports himself using his weapon to get back to his feet, grateful for Clover’s strong arm pulling him upward. Qrow and the Ace Op exchange an undecipherable glance, until the latter declares:

“Good. Because I always thought we worked better as a team.”

“Really? Even when you were trying to arrest me?”

“I won’t underestimate you again this time. You pack mean punches, I learnt my lesson the hard way.”

“So you still don’t trust me, you just fear m-”

“Enough flirting!” Tyrian interrupts, running at them at full speed with his eyes still gleaming purple.

But Clover’s right, the two of them make much quicker work of the serial killer than Qrow could have done on his own. The Faunus has to jump sideways to avoid Harbinger slicing under him and the relic striking overhead. Lowering his sword point to the ground, the shapeshifter glances at his former partner - who nods in understanding, using the flat of the broadsword as a springboard to launch himself into the air. Rearing his arm with a rustle of powerful muscles, he tosses the staff like a javelin, aiming for their common enemy. 

Tyrian’s stinger reaches forward to deflect. And is promptly shattered, the steel prosthetic cracked apart and dribbling with venom after colliding with the relic’s azure tip. Droplets of purple burn the snowy ground where they fall, but fortunately don’t touch Clover as he lands elastically. While Qrow distracts the criminal with his shotgun, the Ace Op loses no time to draw Kingfisher and throw his fishing line, entangling it securely around Tyrian’s body. 

“I wonder what your orders are, soldier,” the henchman comments as the Atlesian reaches for his bolas. “Take both of us alive as prisoners? Or has your tin man lost all patience, and does he want us dead? Because even my goddess would probably have more mercy...”

But Qrow’s heard enough, as he runs forward to grab the Staff of Creation and point it toward his enemy. The Staff’s a source of infinite energy, and right now it’s channeling all of the swirling emotion previously pent up in Qrow to blast the Faunus with such force that the snow transmutes to vapour around them. 

“How dare you speak to my friend that way? How dare you hurt those I love? What is it all for? To prove your worth to Salem?”

“Shouldn’t you… be… questioning… your _friend_?” the serial killer hisses under the pain and the deafening sound of the relic’s unleashed magic. 

“Believe me, Qrow, if James wanted you arrested he’d do it himself. This isn’t why I came. I know you can’t trust me, because I couldn’t trust you… but please, listen to me.”

“If it’s nothing urgent, let’s finish him off first, and then we can chat. This is what I came here for, this is the score I’ve been wanting to settle for months, and either you’re with me, or you’re in my way,” the shapeshifter warns, eyes still riveted on his enemy writhing in pure suffering before his eyes. 

“I know you may still think I’m some kind of hallucination here to haunt you,” Clover yells over the sound of Tyrian’s blood-curdling screams, “but I swear I’m the real Clover, and I’m right here, you don’t have to avenge me.”

“I’ve come too far to stop now, I’ll make him pay for what he did, for hurting you!”

“And then you’ll do the same to James, as you promised?”

“Did you become his bootlicker again when he brought you back to life?! When you were bleeding your guts out you were begging me to go after Jimmy!”

As he speaks, Qrow tightens his grip on the relic, which finally frees the tempest within him, his anguish, his suffering, his tiredness of secrets, betrayals, lost loves and friendships, his slow, silent spiral into madness like the tumble of a crow’s feather through the night, until he can’t even tell what’s real, if Clover’s really real by his side…

“Please, Qrow, please don’t make me stop you. I’ve had to stand by watching James lose his mind, I was wrong to support him, look what happened to me,” he waves to the front of his still bloodied uniform, ”I can’t make the same mistake again, I can’t lose you too. Qrow, you’re still better than that. You still have more mercy than Salem.”

“Salem’s lost the one she loved, I’ve lost so many people, watched so many die, and half of them betrayed me! What do you even know about me? What tells me you’re not a figment of my imagination nagging me because I’m going crazy?”

Because of course Clover’s beautiful, perfect, too perfect face would be the one his conscience would choose to talk to him.

“Maybe it’s a stupid question, but if I’m not the real Clover, what do you think Clover is thinking about us, about you right now, burning your enemy to ashes with a relic? Would he have wanted that?”

The real Clover was - or is? Qrow can’t tell any more - flawed, too proud and manipulative for his own good, and not above making stupid decisions in the field. But the ideal Clover, watching Qrow from metaphorical above? Alongside the ideal Summer, Amber, Leo, Oz, and all those he failed to save before it was too late? They’d have wanted him to push on, to protect those he loves, to leave vengeance in the past and keep moving forward, always. 

“You’re right, lucky charm, it’s a really stupid question.”

And dropping the Staff from his hands, Qrow tumbles to his knees, only realising how much energy wielding the artifact just drained from him. Just his luck, Clover’s there to catch him, gently easing him into a sitting position. His hands are so warm, so soft, and his muscular arms safely holding onto Qrow must be real, he’s too tired to imagine anything so elaborately perfect. 

“Wow, that was intense. I wasn’t sure when you’d stop, before or after blowing Solitas into oblivion… before or after losing yourself to a point where you’d regret it.”

Both of them gaze at the shallow crater within which Tyrian lies, heavily burnt but barely alive judging by Clover’s Scroll readings. 

“You still don’t trust me? Because I wouldn’t trust me, if I were you.”

“I… doubted at first. You seemed off, not like the Qrow I knew and loved. But now you were able to do the right thing, the hardest thing, and stop yourself before it was too late? I don’t think I’ll ever doubt you again.”

Of course, as he utters those words Clover considers him with his most sincere, wide-eyed expression of respect and admiration, and that’s enough for Qrow’s wary heart to entirely melt.

“Permission to speak freely?” the operative smirks with a mock salute as the shapeshifter leans into his embrace.

“Haven’t you been doing that the whole time?”

“Honestly… I feared that… no, thought that to distract you from destroying him I’d have to kiss you or something… I know that sounds really awkward and stupid and...”

“What’s stopping you now?”

“Uh… really?”

Ever the gentleman, Clover still appears confused and hesitating, until Qrow moves forward to connect their lips. It’s tentative at first, almost chaste, before the Ace Op kisses back passionately. And it’s clumsy, too much, not enough, and yet it’s perfect. It’s all they needed and then some, but when they part they’re both left wanting more. Qrow’s hands are resting at the Atlesian’s waist, while Clover’s strong fingers cup his partner’s face with surprising delicateness.

They still have so much to go through, so many questions left unanswered, so many emotions catching up to them suddenly. But just Qrow’s luck, now’s not the time. 

“You… called us an airship?” the shapeshifter asks incredulously at the sound of helices hovering overhead. 

“I still have the prisoner to put into custody, and the ball’s about to end. We wouldn’t want to be late to the party, would we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp I'm late wrt my time zone again, and I have no idea what I'll come up with for the last prompt. (And I haven't updated REAPER IV, my bad, when I sketched my update schedule I had NO IDEA this week was Fair Game week, and I've been procrasting on finishing today's prompt because that was so hard trust me). Cya tomorrow xx


	7. Golden treasures, silver linings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm tardy, was tired yesterday night and decided to take the night(/early morning by the time I stopped writing?) off. 
> 
> Day 7: Free day/AU
> 
> (Uh, yeah, pirates, hope you enjoy the last prompt!)

At least today’s a sunny day. Qrow’s lips are parched, burning, tasting like salt, covered in sand. His clothes, or whatever remains of them, are soaked with seawater, and seaweed must be tangled into his hair, not that he’d be bothered to take it out. Manacles still bind his wrists, rusted blackened metal biting at his pallid skin, too sturdy, too heavy. He’s still lying in the sand, still desperately clinging to that one piece of driftwood that kept him afloat during the shipwreck, that helped him make his way to the shore. 

Overhead, around the scorching sun, birds circle relentlessly, and he wonders if any of them will dive down to devour him, if he looks dead enough to their taste yet. The waves gently lap at his bare feet, covering them with a translucent blanket embroidered with seafoam that sloshes back and forth, again and again, slowly, lulling, until he loses track of time. He can’t tell how many minutes, hours, days he’s been here since the shipwreck, he can’t tell when’s the last time he even ate or drank. 

But hey, at least today’s a sunny day, he thinks to himself as a silver lining as he drifts into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

“Is that even still alive?” a youthful voice asks with the slightest note of disgust. 

“Looks like a prisoner, still tied up and all,” another tone, probably older, responds. “He was probably in a cell aboard the Omen when we sank it. He must've drifted ashore from the wreckage. Doesn’t look like he carries anything precious though.”

Hands rummage Qrow’s body, examining with the rings on his fingers, fidgeting with his necklace before removing it, even prying his mouth open to check for gold teeth. He wants to shrug them off, but he can’t move, his body’s too heavy, heck, even his eyelids are too heavy. 

“Not very much indeed. I wonder what price we’ll get for these rings. What metal do you think that is, Vine?”

“The blackening seems to indicate silver,” a different speaker ponders carefully.

Cracking an eyelid open, the prisoner can guess shades of white, blue, red against the too bright backdrop. Atlesian uniforms - likely corsairs at the service of His Majesty, King James of Atlas.

“Is he coming to? I swear I saw his eyes open...” a fourth soldier notices.

Small, quick hands firmly shake his shoulder, grabbing at his shirt. 

“Sir, can you hear me?”

Just his luck, his garment rips under the tugging, revealing his back and earning a collective gasp from the four people present.

“Those wing tattoos… is that…?”

“Qrow Branwen? The Pirate Emperor’s own assassin aboard the Ozymandias?”

“There’s a crazy price on his head! We’ll all be rich if we just bring him back to Argus!”

“You mean, I’ll be rich when I leave you stranded here and bring him back to Argus.”

“Shouldn’t we call the Captain?”

But Qrow’s heard enough, and summoning all his strength, he flips over to bite the hand that tugged his shirt. That only elicits a slight wince of pain from the trained soldier, but it buys Qrow enough time to reach for the cutlass at the corsair’s waist with both hands and stab her in the thigh with it, causing her to cry out in pain. 

“Harriet!” a tawny young man calls out, drawing a flintlock pistol to shoot point blank at the assassin. 

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Qrow tosses his blade straight into the weapon’s barrel and flicks it out of its wielder’s grasp before he can fire, using the ensuing confusion to stagger onto his feet and punch the gunslinger in the jaw, sending him stumbling back several feet. The whistle of blades slicing through the air alerts him of the two remaining opponents at his back, a pale man dual-wielding slender swords and a burly woman with a heavy scimitar. He bends down to dodge a few first slashes, one hand parrying with the cutlass while the other grabs a handful of sand, sprinkling it into his opponents’ eyes. As they stumble backward, blinded, Qrow catches the man’s wrist and swings him into his ally, making both of them lose their balance on the uneven sand. 

“What’s going on here?” a loud voice calls in the background. 

The captain of HMS Aesop, serving under the orders of King James, turquoise eyes shining in the sunlight, pristine uniform glistening with metal medals and emphasizing his proud stature and sculptural chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal expanses of alabaster musculature. The crewmembers pause at his appearance, and Qrow momentarily forgets how to breathe - but recovers soon. Enough to let go of Vine and pounce toward the captain, wrapping the chain binding his hands around the man’s strong neck. 

“One more step, and I cut his throat open,” he threatens, lowering his blade to graze the Atlesian’s Adam’s apple. 

The captain’s youngest soldier hesitantly reaches out to his commanding officer, only for Qrow to use his broad shoulders as a springboard to propel himself upward and kick the tan-skinned boy in the chest.

“You could’ve just followed with your threat,” the captain remarks in a teasing whisper for the assassin’s ears only. 

Qrow can feel the heat ascending to his face at the unexpected attention, suddenly very aware of the teal-eyed man’s very shapely back and behind pressed flush against him.

“All of you, back to the ship,” the Atlesian orders his subordinates. “There’s still plenty of repairs to do until we can leave for the mainland.”

“But captain...” a limping Harriet protests, clearly unsure whether her superior can handle the assassin that wounded them all in the span of seconds. 

“I’ve got this, Hare,” he assures. 

And to demonstrate, kicks Qrow with a well-placed heel between his legs. 

Crying in pain and indignation, the pirate falls to his knees on the sand, dropping his sword and releasing his grip on his hostage. As he lay there, sand clinging to his tattered shirt and his tattered pride, unable to move, unable to breathe, he doesn’t register how long it takes before the crew leave back for their ship, before the captain, standing before the sunny sky, offers him a hand. 

In challenge, Qrow tugs at the hand sharply and simultaneously kicks the man at the knee, causing him to fall squarely atop the assassin. They wrestle briefly in the sand, but the pirate, in his weakened state, can’t do much to prevent the soldier sitting up against him, suavely straddling him at the most awkward position possible. As he senses his heartbeat accelerate, Qrow can’t even count the months since he last got laid, and it doesn’t help that his man is smooth, strong, and exactly his type, crossing his muscular arms at the exactly ideal vantage point for Qrow to admire. 

“I apologise for the… non-conventional blow. It was the only way to get to talk to you one-on-one without worrying my crew.”

Qrow’s still hurting too sorely to ever accept the apology, even though his tired mind wouldn’t be able to identify any flaw in the captain’s logic.

“Look, I know of your reputation, Clover Ebi. I know you’re pretending to play nice, pretending to rescue me from your crew, but that won’t work with me. I won’t tell you anything of what I know on Captain Oz’s treasure.”

“I never asked.”

“I can see it in your eyes that those are your orders. You little soldiers act all the same.”

“You know what? Maybe I do want to know. But that can wait. I must say the rumours weren’t wrong about just how strong you are. After our little scuffle, I would be wrong to underestimate you.”

“Your point?” Qrow prompts, taken aback by the seemingly genuine admiration shining in Clover’s irises.

“That we’ll worry about what  _ you  _ want first, and then I’ll think about what I want.”

Right now, the assassin’s brain just wants to kiss the Atlesian senseless, so he has no idea how that is supposed to help. But the military leader already produces something from his belt, and Qrow’s jaw drops at the sight of a small leather-bound flask, as his hands reflexively unscrew the top and pour the contents between his parched lips. Of course it’s just water, lukewarm water, but it tastes as delectable as the sweetest of spirits to his dried mouth, his dried throat, his dried soul. He gulps the flask’s contents so fast in his half-sitting position that half of it ends up pouring down his chin, spilling out of his cracked, salty lips, and his crimson eyes dart away from the captain’s in bashful shame to have wasted precious water. Glancing down at the sea foam, he doesn’t expect Clover’s strong hand to cup his jaw, thumb swiping against his stubble to wipe the rivulet of wasted water off his face.

“I know you don’t trust me yet, Qrow. But maybe I’ll make you trust me eventually, if I’m lucky,” he utters, his words sounding like a promise. “Until then...”

Until then, he stares straight into Qrow’s eyes, his irises as clear as sunkissed lagoons, brimming with respect, with desire, with a silent question, with boundless  _ patience _ … until Qrow can’t take the swirling of sensations bubbling like a maelstrom inside him any more. And propping himself upward, he closes the distance and claims Clover’s lips with his. The captain lets out a muffled moan before kissing back eagerly, his agile tongue mapping the roughness of Qrow’s parched lips, mapping every detail of his mouth as the pirate’s tongue pushes back, fighting a battle of attrition that he knows he can’t win. 

As strong hands tug at his salt-ridden hair, the prisoner wishes he could let his fingers roam across the captain’s body, across the sharp planes and rounded curves of his toned torso. But a metallic click reminds him of his shackled wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale from the soldier who takes advantage of the situation to pin the assassin’s arms down into the sand with his powerful forearm, keeping Qrow’s bound hands safely away above their heads. 

So Clover doesn’t trust him, the pirate understands, smiling slightly into the kiss. It’s only fair, since Qrow doesn’t trust the captain either, rightfully so since they’ve seen what they’re both capable of. And that mistrust, that rush of adrenaline at the lack of control only eggs them on further, sending the assassin utterly squirming under the touch of burning lips methodically cartographing the arc of his neck, trailing down, lower and lower. Soon, strong hands effortlessly tear apart the ruined fabric of Qrow’s shirt, eliciting a sharp gasp as crimson eyes roll backward in pure pleasure. 

It’s not love, merely alleviated desire after months of loneliness at sea, yet Qrow can’t remember the last time someone made love to him this way, claiming him with such control, caressing him with such contemplation. With a hum of approval at the assassin’s suitably unravelling state, Clover bends down to kiss him again in a violent clash of teeth, with renewed fervour, renewed lust, leaving him unable to move or breathe in the heat, the ever-growing heat, but still wanting more, more...

Clover’s voice calls out his name, but it’s too distant, too unclear. Everything blurs around Qrow in sudden pulses, and his head’s swimming weightlessly like he’s drowning again. The air’s hot, too hot, everything’s too hot, and his whole body is all but melting into the sand… and he can’t help but hang limply as the captain’s powerful arms scoop him off the floor. With a last-ditch effort, he can fleetingly discern the outline of the corsair’s lips moving, but the sound escapes him as darkness engulfs his mind...

* * *

“Qrow? Are you awake?”

Grumbling wordlessly, the pirate attempts to sit up and look around. His shackles are gone, and Captain Ebi must’ve carried him to the shade, beneath the palm trees surrounding the beach. The sunlight, still burning bright, is filtering through the palm leaves overhead, stripes of gold tumbling onto Clover’s shoulders and highlighting each bulging muscle. Shadows streak the soldier’s face, deformed ever so slightly by his reassured grin at seeing Qrow coming to. Squinting, the latter tries to focus on the mesmerising teal eyes, complemented by the blue and green backdrop of sky and leaves, while his vision stabilises and the world stops spinning around him.

“How long was I out?”

Because that was frankly embarrassing - Qrow Branwen, famed, or should he say infamous assassin at the orders of Captain Ozpin himself, swooning like a damsel after a heated kiss. Granted, a heated kiss with an inordinately attractive navy captain, but still…

“Not very long, maybe a minute. I shouldn’t have been so... forward, after all you almost drowned, you’re still dehydrated and highly feverish.” 

While Qrow was unconscious, Clover had detached the crimson arm band he wore around his bicep and soaked it in seawater, using it right now to lightly dab Qrow’s burning forehead. The fresh wet cloth feels more than welcome against his sweaty skin, and he can’t repress a sigh of relief. 

“You weren’t forward, I was the one who kissed you. We were supposed to do what I want, remember?”

“Well, what you want is inadvisable, given your current health state.”

“You soldiers are no fun,” Qrow pouts. “It’s not like you didn’t want it too.”

“Whatever I want can wait. I have no idea what you’ve been through at sea, but right now you need to work on recovering your strength, and I need to work on obtaining your trust.”

“You sound like you want to make playing nurse a recurring thing between us.”

“Well, I can leave you the chance to come with us aboard the Aesop while we sail to the mainland, or to stay stranded here on this desert island.”

Apparently, Clover doesn’t know about the secrets of this island, but navigating to the mainland may well involve bringing Qrow in at Argus to claim the galleons on his head, as far as he can tell… unless Qrow can prove himself useful. The pirate ponders his options for a few seconds before commenting off-handedly. 

“This desert island, as you call it, hides a piece of Ozma’s gold crown from the legend. My sister was after it before you crashed her ship. She’d kept me as a prisoner because I know where all the pieces are.”

In truth, Qrow had planned to go retrieve the bejewelled fragment himself, but he’s pretty certain he would collapse again if he so much as tries to stand up too quickly. So he may as well have Clover’s soldiers do all the hard work for him, and steal the crown piece later while on board.

“You see,” the captain smiles, “it’s not so hard for you to trust me.”

“Could you at least reward me with a kiss?”

“Let me see,” Clover considers, removing the dripping cloth off the assassin’s forehead to contemplate his face, his feverish yet mischievous eyes, his exhausted yet devilish grin. 

After entirely too long seconds, he finally gives in, bending down to press a brief peck to the pirate’s lips. Exhaling in contentment, Qrow can’t help but remark:

“You’ll need to work a lot harder than that if you want to know where the next pieces are.”

“I can try. But you should know that there’s rules aboard my ship.”

“How does it matter to me, if you plan to throw me back into a cell?”

“Everyone aboard the Aesop should help as much as they can, captive or not. We lost many men in the battle against Raven, and you stabbed Harriet, my sailing master, so I expect you to assist her in her duties until her wound heals. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Qrow scoffs teasingly. 

“Every step out of line will be punished. Every tentative insubordination will be punished. Every attempt to steal or escape will be punished. Did I make myself clear?”

The assassin gulps as he nods, trying his best to chase from his mind the fickle thought that Clover’s punishments may consist in tying him up and fucking him senseless… because knowing the man, that would make a lot of sense.

“Good,” the captain says, kissing Qrow’s forehead gently enough to earn a gasp of surprise. “We should head back to the ship, think you can walk?”

“I’ll have you know I’m - oof!” 

The outlaw tries to stagger upright, only to sway under his own weight and lean against Clover’s chest for support. With a small, adorable huff, which the pirate can’t tell if it sounds exasperated or endeared, the captain picks him up bridal style, teal eyes never leaving red. 

“I think you’re enjoying this way more than you should,” Clover teases. “But I guess I’ll have to put up with your antics if I want to know where the rest of the treasure is… lucky you, huh?”

* * *

Qrow considers his predicament - he’s still a prisoner of sorts, a prisoner who has to work, what’s more, he’s still dehydrated, famished, sunburnt, and feverish, and at the complete mercy of one Captain Clover Ebi. But at least he can consider himself lucky to be carried in those beautiful arms, and if that’s not a silver lining, he doesn’t know what is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, challenge completed! Seven prompts in seven days (ish)
> 
> You have no idea how tricky this one was, I had four separate attempts in four very different AU's and next to no idea how to complete them. If I have the courage some day, I'll finish them and post them in separate fics. Overall, this challenge was wayyy out of my comfort zone and mostly shows how following prompts is so hard for me. In fact, I remember seeing the prompts back in February online and thinking these are so hard to relate to for me, don't think I'll do this. Then I ended up in lockdown with all my conferences cancelled, so I thought to myself why not, and ooh boy, oh boy. I think my favourite was Day 3, Weapons/Family, but mostly because Ivy Ebi, from my other fic All The Help We Can Get, is in it, and it's probably becoming my favourite work right now. That was my first time writing an OC interacting with some canon characters, so that was fun. Even though this AU day comes pretty close to being my favourite too, hmm. My least favourite? Idk, Day 1 (Flirting/Semblances) was a rocky start and an idea I've had for a long time that didn't match with the prompt or work on the page near as well as I'd hoped. Then the superhero stuff (Day 4) was weird, it was hilarious to write but I dunno if it was near as fun to read and I should've done without the post-credit scene. I want to do a proper Atlas Ball thing at some point (I was thinking about one but scrapped it because of this weird thing where I forced myself to use both of the prompts every day, I know not my smartest idea), so maybe expect something like that from me in the coming... weeks? months?? Who knows xD
> 
> Stay safe, hydrated, and posted xx

**Author's Note:**

> It is past 2AM in my time zone so I'm technically late already, but it must still be the 16th in some other time zones so it counts for something, right? My excuse is that I only figured out today that it was fair game week, and I had a whole string of interviews to run in the afternoon so I started writing maybe 2-3 hours ago. Not a real excuse, I know. I'll try to do better tomorrow, cya then xx


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